A Night In Killcrest Manor
by Overseerneversleeps
Summary: The Doctor and Sarah Jane attend a lavish party at the behest of an old friend. Things go from bad to worse however, when they find themselves locked in with the other guests, playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with an assassin hell-bent on destroying them all. Part 4 of "The Twelfth Hour" Series.
1. Like Light To Flies

_(Author's Note: Hello Outlaw Gentleman and Shady Ladies, and welcome to A Night in Killcrest Manor! This story, Part 4 of the Twelfth Hour, has been a long time coming , and it is finally here. I hope you all enjoy it and that it was worth the wait. Take it easy, and stay tuned, there is much more to come)_

"Tell me, Ms. Stewart, exactly why I should help Unit?" Jack Harkness couldn't believe he was actually here; not only that he had answered the call from Unit, but that he had even come to the meeting.

The brunette man sat across from Unit Science Officer Kate Stewart. His dark eyes scanned her for any clues as to what she was up to, and he made sure to keep his own lantern jaw set, and unreadable. He was good at that, having been an agent for Torchwood for many years, and a Time Agent for years before that.

He was youthful, and attractive, but it hid how old he really was; truly, even he wasn't sure. He had time travelled for hundreds of years before getting stuck on Earth, in the time of the dinosaurs no less. That had been so tedious; you can only run from a T-Rex so many times before you get bored. They say the soul was in the eyes, and looking into his, one would find something ancient indeed.

He smiled disarmingly at the woman sitting in front of him. That move was always a good one, and it drove the ladies wild. He wondered if Kate was single for a moment, immediately tossing that idea out of his head. No way was he going to open that can of worms. He had a feeling his life would be dramatic enough in a few minutes.

The blonde woman in front of him was all business anyway. Her face was serious, eyes cold, and calculating. She brushed her neat blonde hair from her blue eyes, staring him down. He could almost feel how hard this must be for her. She was like her father Lethbridge; she never wanted to ask for help. Something must have driven her to do so, something big. Something bigger than Unit, bigger than Torchwood, and bigger than their strained relationship. He had a feeling it was a man in a flying, blue, police box.

"Unit needs your help. _I_ need your help, Mr. Harkness," she replied. She was still dancing around what they actually needed. Fine, she wanted to play hardball? He could do that.

"That's Captain Harkness, and frankly, I'm not sure I want to do that. Your organization has been up to some shady things lately. I understand that every government group has skeletons in the closet, and corpses stuffed in the crawlspace but yours... well, lets just say, that they aren't doing you any favors here." Jack finished, raising is brows, and tilting his head, before leaning back in his chair, resting his thumbs inside his suspenders. Her turn.

"That's rich coming from Torchwood. We remember what your organization used to be like; guns blazing into every situation. Explosives were your answer to every problem," the derision in her voice was evident.

"Yes before I ran things. However, I have been sure, in my reformation, to also change the behavior of my agents. How many problems have you actually had from Torchwood in the last decade?" he chuckled, "unless we shouldn't have killed all those Daleks during the Earth invasion, or destroyed all those Cybermen in Missy's robo-zombie-apocalypse."

"For the sake of cooperation, I'm not going to bring up Miracle Day," she replied with a self-satisfied smile. Jack snorted.

"We handled that the best we could. And...I don't remember Unit running in to give us a hand with that. In fact, I don't think you even called us to see if we were alright. You were probably too busy with your intergalactic prison camp." Kate sat back in her chair, narrowing her eyes.

"How do you know about that?" she whispered. He laughed in response.

"You expect an international spy agency to not hear about that? You must be slipping Kate. From what I hear, The Doctor was not happy about that. Not one bit."

Jack knew how The Doctor operated. He had known the renegade Time Lord for a long time. No matter what face he currently had, he was the same man with the same ideals. He didn't take kindly to cruelty. Jack felt the same way.

He had been surprised when he heard about the alien prison beneath the Tower of London. That had never been Unit's style. Science always led, and they always trusted in the right tactics bringing the right results. Although they did not always see eye to eye, Torchwood, and Unit held mutual respect.

He had lost some of that when he heard of that jail. From what information he had, it was more like a torture chamber. The Doctor had put a stop to that, and since then, all the prisoners had been released. However, in his eyes, the damage was already done.

Jack had seen cruelty, a lot of it. As a former traveling companion of The Doctor, he saw the best, and worst the universe had to offer. The Doctor taught him one thing that stuck, cruelty only led to more cruelty. There were times when one had to do the wrong thing, but for the right reasons. He understood that. That jail however, that was a step to far.

It made him hesitant to work with Unit, and Kate, who allowed that to happen. He had thought long, and hard about even coming to this meeting. However, he also knew she would not have called him unless it was a matter of precedence; so here he was. He wanted to be assured however, that Unit had pulled itself back out of the gutter. Jack wouldn't work with them if they were corrupt. He was many things, good, bad, incredibly dashing, and otherwise; corrupt was not among them.

"This is not about what Unit, or Torchwood, or what either of us have done, or not done. This is more serious than that," she finally stated.

"Alright then sweetheart, tell Uncle Jack what's wrong," he nodded with a grin. Her expression was unamused.

"There has been a break in at the Black Archive." He shook his head.

"What, is that His new hobby now? Is He bored, or something?" Jack asked sarcastically. They didn't need him for that; he imagined it was almost routine at this point. The Doctor was not under his, nor anyone's control.

"That's the problem, it wasn't Him," she said darkly. A chill ran down Jack's spine.

"Are you sure? Positive it wasn't a regeneration you haven't seen yet?" he asked. Kate nodded.

"Whoever it was, killed fifty two of my men. Does that sound like The Doctor's work to you?" He shook his head. That was disturbing. Killer game-show disturbing.

"What about one of his psychopathic pals, The Master, Davros, Celestial Toymaker..." he trailed off. There were too many enemies of The Doctor to fully list. It was a regular popularity contest in that TARDIS.

"None of those. We have even ruled out The Master, and most of his regenerations. Whoever this is, we don't have him on file." He could see the aggravation in her eyes. Not knowing was driving her insane. She was a driven woman, and, like her father, had chosen to sacrifice a good portion of her life to protect Earth. With a mystery opponent like this, that goal was in peril. He knew the feeling. Terror... that was what she was feeling.

"Why did he break in? Just to go on a Unit killing spree?" he asked. There had to be a bigger motive here. None of The Doctor's enemies, not even ones as sociopathic as The Master, broke into the Black Archive, and killed that many people just for kicks and giggles. There was something else at work here.

"That's the other part, he took something; your Vortex Manipulator." His blood ran cold.

Votex Manipulator's were portable time machines. Primitive by The Doctor's standards, it was still capable of the TARDIS' main function; travel through both time, and space. Such a machine falling into the wrong hands could be horribly destructive. The Time Lords kept a stranglehold on such technology for a reason. Even with them gone, that sort of technology was rare, and highly sought after.

The Doctor was a meddler; there was no doubt about that. So was Jack, for that matter. However, they attempted to make things better with their meddling. They saved people, stopped the destruction of whole planets, and star systems. They tried to use such technology for a good cause.

Not everyone else was so pure in their motivation. Irreversible havoc could be wrought with such a machine. They could kill anyone, or destroy anything, changing history how they saw fit, with no thought to the consequences.

Now the murderer of fifty two men had that ability. Jack understood why Kate had called him, and he was glad she had.

"I need to know everything you know about him, and your plan for tracking him down."

"We only have one line to go on, this," she replied. She slid a small card across the table, and Jack picked it up. It was definitely old; very withered by the passage of time. The writing on it was in an old style, Victorian era he would say. It said upon it, "The Great Intelligence Institute".

That did not sound familiar, but that was fine. Jack didn't need to know someone to track them down. It didn't matter that all of time, and space stood between them. He had been taught in that area by the best.

"We want you to find The Doctor. That is how we track this man down. If he has taken a Vortex Manipulator, he is either going to go after him directly, or The Doctor will find him. Their paths will cross, and we need you to get to The Doctor first." Kate's intense glare did not falter.

"Why not just have me hunt down our homicidal friend from the start? Maybe we can prevent needing The Doctor at all." He knew The Doctor was unaware of Unit keeping Jack's old manipulator. He hadn't told him, and he doubted Kate would.

"Because with a manipulator, he can attack any time, anywhere. I need someone we trust to not only protect The Doctor, but also our interests." Jack nodded, smirking. He saw where this was going.

"You're afraid if he encounters The Doctor on his own, and The Doctor succeeds, he'll never bring that manipulator back." Kate nodded.

"He can't know that manipulator is yours, and he can't know we had it without telling him. He sure as hell can't know we lost it." He understood her point in this. Whether he agreed, or not ,was a different story. There was only one thing left to ask.

"This is all very exciting to talk about Kate, but there's one problem; he took my manipulator. How can I accomplish any of this? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm good. I'm really good. But even Captain Jack Harkness isn't that good."

Kate did not speak, instead pulling out her phone. She tapped it a few times, and the room's single door opened. A man in a black suit walked it, set a metal briefcase on the table, and walked back out. How melodramatic.

Kate took a key from her pocket and clicked it into the lock. She then tapped on a small key pad upon the lid, and turned the key again.

"Kate Stewart," she announced loudly, and the case chimed, unlocking with a click. She opened it, and spun it around, showing it to Jack.

Inside was a bracelet. Covered in a multitude of buttons, and switches, and dominated by a screen. He knew this item better than any other. A Vortex Manipulator.

"How... why do you have another one of these?" He was admittedly caught off guard. He didn't know Unit was so well off as to have two of those.

"It was brought by Doctor River Song. She was asked to do so by The Doctor. When questioned further, she only replied "spoilers", before disappearing.

"That's interesting," muttered Jack.

"It's irritating," she grunted.

They were quiet for a short time, before Jack broke the silence in finality.

"I'll do it," he said, "but I'm not doing it for Unit, or Torchwood, or anyone else. I'm doing this for The Doctor." Kate nodded in reply.

Jack stood, and took the bracelet from the briefcase. He slipped it over his wrist, and buckled it tightly. He forgot how much these weighed, how heavy they were. He pressed a few familiar buttons, the machine humming to life.

"Good luck, Capitan," Kate smiled, almost looking sad.

"I won't need it sister. See you soon," he winked. He had every intention of finding The Doctor, however he had other business first. He needed to know his enemy. It was a basic rule of war. It was time to find out what the universe at large knew of The Great Intelligence Institute.

With a flash of white, Jack Harkness was gone, leaving not a trace behind.

* * *

"Do you think we should take Handles with us? I would hate for him to miss out," The Doctor's Scottish accent shouted from another room. Sarah Jane only snickered, and shook her head.

She stood before the floor length mirror, touching up her make up. She finished applying a small amount of blush to her heart-shaped face, and checked to be sure she had not smudged the liner around her brown eyes. She did little to hide the light wrinkles on her face; she was middle aged. There was not much she could do about that. She left her greying brown hair alone. She was never one for putting up or tying it back. She considered it one of her better features.

She adjusted her outfit a bit. She was always a tad uncomfortable in such elegant attire. She wore a long, dark blue gown, reaching to just above her ankles. The straps were a bit tight to her shoulders, but it did not bother her too much. It fit well, not showing her cleavage. She wasn't advertising after all. Over all, she though she looked quite refined.

That was the idea. The pair had been invited to a party this morning, so her normal, casual attire was not acceptable. The host was someone they also met this morning, an archeologist named Pierce Killcrest. They had helped him with a small issue involving a Cyberman. Upon returning to the TARDIS, they had received an invitation from the man, albeit thirty five years in the future. The TARDIS was currently in transit to that time. The Doctor wanted to attend the party before he got side tracked. Considering his proclivity for doing so, she agreed.

"I think we can probably leave Handles, at least until we fix him." She shook her head with a wry smile. He had salvaged the Cyberman's head, dubbing it Handles 2.0. Just when she thought she had gotten used to his odd behaviors he always seemed to throw her a curveball. Not that she minded. His strangeness was charming to her.

Satisfied with her appearance, she walked out of her room and down the TSRDIS' hall into the console room. The round chamber was bathed in amber light, mixing with the TARDIS' natural, cool blue. It had become comforting to her at this point. It made her smile, every time.

"So, how do I look?" Surprised by his voice, she turned around.

The Doctor stood in a stoic pose behind her, his hand on his chin, in mock deep thought. He had gone for a more debonair outfit than his usual Victorian attire. He wore a double-brested, black, smoking jacket, with a pair of dress pants to match. Beneath this was a white dress shirt, complemented by a neatly tied cravat. She noted he had kept his old boots, well worn, and still dusty from this morning's adventure, thirty years ago.

She caught a glimpse of that rogue smirk on his face. Although older looking and wrinkled, that smile almost made him seem youthful. Of course, his attack-eyebrows balanced that out, resting above a pair of wise eyes that had seen the face of time for an eon or two. She noted he had even groomed his mass of spiny grey hair atop his head, neatening it for the night to come.

"You look sophisticated as always," she complemented.

"Thank you Sarah," he shouted, breaking form, and jogging around the other side of the console, twiddling frantically with the controls, "truthfully I was testing you, just wanted to make sure your eyes were alright after that business in the mine this morning. God only knows what sort of contaminants were in that dust, and I know how dashing I look." She accidently snorted in reply, covering her mouth with her palm.

"And humble, I see too," she poked.

"Always Sarah, as I keep telling you, no one likes a braggart," he replied seriously. She shook her head with a smile.

A dull thud interrupted the pair, and he looked up, that same adventurous look in his eyes she had seen so often lately.

"We've landed," he announced, "come on, lets be off, it's been so long since we saw our friend Pierce."

"Oh yes, this morning was just ages ago," she joked.

"All perception, Ms. Smith. For us it was only hours. For him a lifetime. I wonder what he has been up to lately. In the mail, he called his home Killcrest Manor."

"Sounds fancy," she agreed.

"Don't worry, if it's stuffy and boring, we can leave early, I'll just tell him you were infected by Hemerophaly-Kalaform Encephalopathy and we have to leave. There's a great planet where it rains black snow. Amazing to see." He chattered.

"Even if it is, we can still stay. It's only one night, besides, as soon as they don't see crabs crawling out of my eyes, they'll know your lying."

"You're right... I'll have to think of something else. Common stomach flu it is," he murmured.

"I don't suppose my sonic lipstick is fixed yet, is it?" Sarah asked, changing the subject.

"I'm afraid not... honestly I'm not sure it will ever be the same." She shook her head in reply. She had broken it on an adventure not long ago, when she, and The Doctor stopped off in Puritan America. She had used a dangerous pulse setting that had stopped a homicidal robot, but it had also fried the tool. When The Doctor had done the same, his screwdriver had only recovered because it was a newer model. Her's, although updated with the latest software, was older. She hoped that it could be repaired... some day.

"That's fine, as long as you have yours, we should be alright," she shrugged. It was not ideal, but they would make due. Besides, it was just a party, what could really go wrong? On second thought, that was not a question she wanted to ask.

The pair stepped out of the doors of the TARDIS, walking out into the cool, night air. The sight before them could only be called one thing; spectacular.

The manor home spanning the hill ahead of them was gigantic, stretching out in either direction like a grand fortress. It resembled an old Victorian era mansion, however it was lit by cool, blue, electric lights. Both stories were decorated by thick marble columns and huge gilded windows. They could see lights twinkling from within, signaling the beginning of the party. The outer courtyard was decorated with various plants. Sarah recognized that some were from Earth, such as pine trees and lilac bushes, while others were far more alien. She spotted one tree that looked like an octopus, and another that grew fruit that pulsed like an organ. Plants of all colors, and shapes made this place beautiful; a veritable Garden of Eden.

Above the home, the night sky above was astonishing. Stars shown blue, and red, intermingled with a near by nebulae that seemed to spill across the sky, dyeing everything purple. A pair of silvery moons floated in the sky above.

As the pair walked up the driveway, Sarah Jane could not help but wonder how Pierce had made so much money. Had be become famous as he said he would all those years ago? Perhaps he really had been meant for greatness. Then again, wealth, and a large house, no matter how impressive, did not make one truly great.

They stopped at a pair of ornate wooden doors. The Doctor reached out, and pressed the button on the side. A loud beep followed, then a voice.

"Name please," came an upper-crustic voice.

"I'd like an order of two burgers, and two large fries," The Doctor replied, faking his best American accent. He looked at her with a mischievous wink. There was no answer for a few seconds, then the door creaked open.

Sarah Jane, and The Doctor walked in to the magnificent foyer. The entry hall was dominated by a sweeping staircase, leading up to a balcony over looking the door. The steps, and floor white marble, and the walls were decorated with fine art from around the galaxy.

A man stood by the door, wearing a fitted tuxedo. He was middle aged, with a thin mustache, and a comb over that did little to hide his receding hair. He held out one white-gloved hand.

"May I take your coat sir?" He asked, drawing an odd look from the Time Lord.

"Of course not! John D. Rockefeller gave this to me! Didn't do much to stop me from starting a bunch of unions, but I still thought it was a nice gesture."

"Well, smack me mother sideways... you actually came, both of ya. And you don't look a day older than I remember," came a cocky voice from upstairs.

The man was older. He was tall, cutting an impressive figure in a black and red suit. His face was partially obscured by a neat, grey beard, and his thinning hair was cut into a short crewcut. His face was marked by age, and one eye obscured by a silver, metal eye patch. He was unmistakable, even in his older age. Pierce Killcrest, in the flesh.

* * *

The dark room was only illuminated by the light glaring from the many computer screens hanging upon the wall. That did not bother The Great Intelligence; not one bit.

His cold eyes stared at the screens as he adjusted the top hat on his greying head. He watched, and waited.

His servants were everywhere, and through them he could see. He had a bird's eye view of every government body across the universe that was important enough to catch his eye, every congress twiddling their thumbs trying to make a decision, and every empire trying to rise, and conquer. Even the wealthy were not immune; he watched them just as intently. Mortals put stake in money. Money, was therefore power. If his servants could carefully manipulate those with that power, it was all the better for him.

Even the most terrible were not immune. One screen showed the Daleks as they trundled amongst one and other, while another recorded aboard the Sontaran sixty fourth capital fleet. The Great Intelligence saw all. He knew all. No one could hide.

He smiled as one screen caught his attention. He watched as his foe, his hated enemy, wandered through a house with his companion on his heel, that stupid woman so easily gulled by his charms. He had fallen into a trap no one knew existed. Excellent.

"Let the game's begin Time Lord," he murmured in the dark. He clicked a pair of buttons on is key board, and put his mouth closer to a microphone sticking from it.

"Activate Unit three-six-two-five-one. Order: eliminate The Doctor, and his companion." His laughter filled the dark room. He hoped the Time Lord would not disappoint him. What fun would that be?


	2. Retirement

Although he had gotten used to it a long time ago, it always surprised The Doctor, to some degree, to see a friend who was once young, now old. Time travel had a way of doing that; one moment your best friend could be twenty, and dewy, and one jump in a time machine, and they were wrinkled, and old. He always knew it would happen, as it was an inevitability, and yet it always shocked him.

Perhaps it was a symptom of being a Time Lord, or growing up among them. Maybe it was just that he did not age quickly. Maybe it was just some part of him that did not want them to. He was tired of losing people; and age was, in a morbid way, a slow death. He preferred not to look at it that way, even when faced with it directly.

"If it isn't the Pirate Miner himself! Still looking piratey, not so much miner-y," The Doctor greeted. He was surprised that Pierce had kept his eye patch. His house was a true example of excess; he obviously had a lot of money. That, or he was borrowing this, which was highly doubtful. Most people would have gotten that eye fixed, rather than keep the patch, even if it was expensive.

"Ha ha, you ain't changed a bit!" he laughed, rushing down the steps. He held out his hand, first shaking Sarah Jane's, than The Doctors.

"Thank you so much for inviting us, that was very kind of you. It was quite a surprise. It's been so long," Sarah thanked, ever diplomatic. In reality it had been an hour at the most. Not even. The Doctor almost blurted that out, but stopped himself. A little restraint, though not his strong suit, went a long way.

"Well, I had to! And lemme' tell you, it wasn't easy. You, Doctor, are a hard man to track down," he boasted.

"Thank you!" the Scotsman shouted, drawing a strange look from Sarah. Was that not a complement?

"You mind If I steal your friend here for a few minutes before we get this shin-dig underway? I've wanted to speak to him for a very long time," Pierce asked, his singular eye on Sarah Jane. She shook her head.

"Not at all, he's always been the popular one," she smiled.

"The rest of the guests are gathered in the ball room, if you wish to join them." Sarah nodded to him in agreement. "Winston, do show our guest the way."

"Yes sir, right away," the butler, Winston replied. As he began to walk away, Sarah Jane followed, nodding to The Doctor as she left.

"Come this way, mate, we need to catch up," Pierce grinned, motioning for The Doctor to follow.

The pair walked down an adjoining hall. The Doctor noted that the walls were covered in expensive artwork from around the galaxy; some from famed painters of Earth like Jackson Pollack, others little known current artists that would one day be famed. Just that told him Pierce was now independently wealthy. There were millions of dollars in artwork in just that hall alone.

"So ball room, eh? As in the kind where boring people dance? Or an actual room filled with balls?" He asked. Pierce chuckled in response.

"You're an old pisser you are, still makin' the jokes." he replied. Why he found that question funny, The Doctor would never understand.

They entered a gigantic dining room from the hall. An impressive wood carved table dominated the room, fully capable of seating twenty. A bank of windows rose toward the vaulted ceilings opposite the door, giving one a perfect view of Killcrest Manor's bountiful garden. A fireplace crackled near by, lighting the room with an ethereal blue flame. Above this fireplace were another triumvirate of paintings, all three of which The Doctor recognized.

One was of a woman in a corset, standing before a table, at a fine party. This was A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, by Édouard Manet. The second depicted a vase of sunflowers; a work by Vincent Van Gogh. Lastly, was one of a woman in a white dress, holding a tattered French Flag, during a bloody battle. Liberty Leading the People, by long dead artist, Eugéne Delacroix. Pierce had impressive taste, even though he was selfishly hoarding great works that were to be enjoyed by all.

"Your art collection is impressive... and expensive. You're certainly not pirating around dig sites any more, are you Pierce," The Doctor began. Pierce looked up at the paintings as well, hands cupped behind his back.

"I'm still digging up the past, just in a different way. My days of cave ins, and unearthed robots are long over." A wistful smile came over him, one The Doctor could understand. It was one every adventurer had when they recounted the old days. He had worn that same smile himself more than once.

"Don't you miss it? The excitement, the thrill?" The Doctor asked. The pampered life of calm rest had never been his style. Everyone needed a break at times, even for a few hundred years, but he could never see himself doing so permanently. It would drive him mad.

"Sometimes... but I'm too old for that now. I made the most outta' it. I got no regrets," he shrugged, the longing remaining in his eye.

"Oh I don't know about that, look at me, older than dirt, and still running on." He would never give up his life of running across the stars, not until he took his last breath.

"I'm retiring, I'm not dead... not yet, but it's early," he laughed. The Doctor noted that the smile did not reach is eye. Odd...

"How did you end up with all of this? I mean, the last time we saw each other, you were just a bum with a dream, and now you've got a mansion," he asked. He was curious how thirty some-odd years had led to this.

"That's actually why I invited you," Pierce replied genuinely, "it happened because of you, all those years ago, in that dig site on Vorcon.

You were right about that Cyberman body. When I took it to the markets on Körkmal, I made more money than I ever dreamed of in all me life." The Doctor nodded. He wasn't surprised it had made him rich. He did not expect he would be this rich however. Pierce's next explanation cleared that up.

"The rest o' the crew squandered it on ships, and gals, and booze, but me? I wasn't that stupid. I funded more digs on better class worlds, bought more equipment, and better gear, hired better men. I funneled that money I made back into more digs, and more investments; stores, stocks, machine manufacturers, and everything in between. Killcrest United Corporations has been chuggen' along ever since." The Doctor nodded.

"Sounds like you lived up to your own ego," he smiled, "your kids know what a go getter you were back then?"

"Never had none," he sighed, "it's lonely up here at the top. Only one I feel like I can trust is Silas."

"Silas?" The Doctor exclaimed, "wasn't he..."

"Yeah that's him. Got electrocuted by a Cyberman, and lived. Tough old dog that one."

"Fascinating," whispered the Time Lord, "the fatality rate is..."

"Ninety-nine point nine-nine-eight percent," Pierce finished, "we went back, and he was still twitchin'. I used a load of money to fix him up, but he pulled through. God damned miracle. Doctor's said it was impossible."

"Improbable, not impossible. Nothing is impossible." The Doctor always appreciated stories of beating the odds. It gave him hope. He was always facing daunting odds. It did him good to know he wasn't the only one scraping by on wits, and the skin of his teeth.

"That's enough about me, what about you? What have you done in the last three decades? You ain't even aged, you look like I just saw you fifteen minutes ago! What's your secrete?"

"Oh you know, little of this, little of that. I can't believe it's been so long, feels like only an hour ago you were a cocky kid with something to prove." That wasn't technically a lie, it was an hour ago they last saw him.

"Whatever you done, it's workin. I'm glad the two of you came, it took a lot of searching to find how to get a hold of you. Thought you mighta' died for awhile, but I just had to look in the right corners and find the right people." Pierce clapped him on the back.

"That's how I like it. I'm too popular in some parts. I keep a low profile."

"Hardly!" chuckled the archeologist, "some of the stories I heard bout you, you drop outta the sky right into the action, just like ya did with me. Either way, I had to track you down. I mean, how could I not invite the man who made my whole career to my retirement party."

The Doctor took note of something strange as Pierce spoke. He had a serious, earnest look on his face, and his single eye looked far away and glassy.

"Besides... it'll be good having you around... you always see things other people don't. I always liked that... skill no one has nowadays... have a feeling we'll need those."

The Doctor wasn't sure what to make of that, but he tried not to dwell on it. The musings of someone who's adventures were done... he hoped that was all that was. It sounded far more dark.

* * *

Sarah Jane followed Winston into the ballroom. It exceeded her lavish expectations. The completely round room was made almost entirely of glass. This led to the illusion of dancing in the moonlight, beneath the exotic trees. It was only when one noticed their reflection in the dark, did that illusion disappear. If anything, it made it more impressive. On the East, and West sides of the room, floor to ceiling mirrors hung on the wall, giving the fascinating optical illusion of a never ending reflection.

High above, a crystalline chandelier lit the room in a ghostly white light, leaving the room just shadowy enough to be moody, but not enough to obscure ones vision.

Against one glass wall sat a long buffet table, clad with dishes from every corner of the galaxy. She had dined in many strange places through out the years she travelled with her Time Lord, and almost all were represented, including Earth.

She counted six guests in this room; far less than she would have expected given the size of the house. Perhaps Pierce had only invited his closest friends tonight, or he did not have many to begin with.

Three of the guests were men, equaling three women. One of the men wore a stark, blue military uniform. She noted a multitude of medals on his chest, likely displaying his rank, and achievements in an army she was not familiar with. Everything about him was proper, from his crew cut hair, to his neatly trimmed, grey moustache. His dotish eyes scanned the room back, and fourth, his training evident as he took in his surroundings.

Next to him stood a much younger man, in a tuxedo. This guest seemed to wear a wide smile at all times, his beady eyes constantly squinched in laughing glee. Everything about him bespoke of a tricky prankster, someone who laughed at the expense of both others, and himself. She watched him run his hand through his bleached, rough cut hair, as he flirted with the woman next to him.

She was stunning , in a red flowing, gown. Diamonds twinkled in her ears, and from around her neck, even shining from the tresses of her styled up-do. She too was young, but her full, red lips were turned in a frown at the man in front of her. She was not falling for his tricks. A girl as beautiful as her, had probably heard ever pick-up line in the galaxy. Nothing impressed her.

Near by, a much older woman, dressed in a fur coat, glanced over, rolling her eyes. She raised a martini glass to her wrinkled lips, wholly uninterested in the spectacle the playboy was making. She had a old world sense of style from an era that was long passed; her grey hair was cut in a bowl shape and her make-up was far too heavy, likely in an attempt to make her look much younger. Even still, her posture, and figure were extraordinary for her age, and probably man-made.

Behind her was a pretty woman with dark blue skin. Sarah was unsure what race she was, though she was enchanting. Perhaps it was the gold hair that shimmered in the light, or her liquid green eyes that were filled with soul. As she twirled her wine in the glass, she saw her level a dark look around the room, something between derision, and cunning, like a lion stalking an antelope. Looks were often deceiving, and beauty was skin deep.

She noticed the sixth guest walking toward her, and Sarah Jane realized she recognized him, though only barely. His face was marred by terrible burn scars, leaving it mottled and patchy, like misshapen clay. His left eye was opened wide, while the other seemed to droop slightly. She could see an old scar on his neck, not fully obscured by the collar of his smoking jacket, in the shape of fingers. This man was now old, grey, and scarred, but she had seen him not long ago.

Sarah Jane had watched him get choked, and electrocuted by a Cyberman when they met Pierce. This was his friend Silas, whom she, and The Doctor had thought dead.

In all rights, he should be. Almost no one survived beings shocked by a Cyberman. In fact, she had never heard of anyone doing so, especially not a human. Yet, here he stood before her, scarred but very alive.

"My goodness, you came!" he greeted. His voice had an electronic tinge to it, due to a a voice modulator. She guessed his vocal cords had been damaged by the killer cyborg all those years ago. "Pierce said he was going to try to find you. Didn't think he would, he's been looking for years."

"Silas! My God, I didn't think I'd see you again, ever! I'm so glad your alright!" replied the time traveler.

"You can't keep a good miner down," he grinned, "stroke of luck, though that was. No one thought I was gonna make it but here I am." Sarah Jane couldn't help but smile. What were the odds? She imagined he had to be more machine than man now. The surgeries had to be extensive. In fact, he was probably still having them.

"So, I see you, and Pierce are still together, good to see he kept some of the old crew," she commented. She was truly unsure what to say. She had seen him only a short time ago, but thirty years had passed for him. What do you say to someone when a lifetime had passed between you. The Doctor always opted for shouting "Sarah Jane Smith" at the top of his lungs. She attempted a bit of subtlety.

"Some of? Only one of, is more like it. The rest are scattered across the galaxy, or dead. He fixed me up after that day, and I was the only one smart enough to help him run things 'round here."

"Oh? Business partner eh?"

"You're looking at the Head of Developments of Killcrest United Corporations, missy so you best be careful," he joked with a laugh. She retuned his sentiment.

As they spoke, Sarah Jane noted another person entering the room. The mousy, wan, young woman, was one of Pierce's other servants. She wore a black, and white maid's outfit, and carried a metal tray with drinks on it. Her frizzy brown hair was tied neatly, and her youthful face was contorted in an anxious smile. She was trying to look happy, despite her obvious nervousness. It set Sarah Jane on edge. What could she be nervous about? The company? Or something else?

"I'm glad he managed to keep at least one friend. Too often, when people climb the corporate ladder, they lose everyone." Business was always too brutal for her. People discarded one and other like trash. It was never the world for her.

"Well, you know us side kicks, we can't leave! Look at you? Still knockin' around with that old geezer three decades later. We're as much caretakers as friends, weather they want to admit that or not."

Silas had a point. The Doctor was not a man who could be alone for any length of time. He was not good at it. In some ways, she knew she kept him from the darker segments of his life, just by being there. She understood him better than most did, and knew his flaws like they were her own. She had the responsibility of care. She wondered if Pierce, and Silas were the same way.

Just as she was about to answer, The Doctor walked in, Pierce right behind him. The Scotsman strolled up to her, throwing her a wink. That was never a good sign. He was up to no good.

"Good evening everyone!" Pierce shouted to the guests, "thank you all for coming. I know that this is not my largest, or most lavish party, but it is certainly the most intimate. I know each of you like my own hand, and care for you as though you are family. Now that everyone has arrived, as is customary at every Killcrest event, let us have the first dance."

With that, he clapped his hands sharply, twice. A violin score began, and each guest paired off.

"Shall we, Ms. Smith?" The Doctor, asked, holding out one hand.

"Absolutely," she replied, taking it. As with all the other guests, they began a slow Minuet, with The Doctor leading. As they began the dance, he drew her closer, beginning to whisper, giving sideways glances across the room.

"I got the guest list from Pierce. Something isn't right here," The Doctor whispered.

"How so?"

"He said they are all close, and those he cares about. Both are lies," he replied. Sarah Jane noticed Pierce himself was dancing with the maid, who looked sheepishly uncomfortable.

"Alright so, who's here?" She questioned.

"So glad you asked," he smiled devilishly, "I took the liberty of doing some research on what passes for the internet in this time period, on my phone. I was pretending to look for pictures we took on a vacation to Serdico. If Pierce mentions it, it was a fiasco." He first nodded to the military man, who danced with the blue skin alien.

"That one is Ex-Sergeant Barlow Hughes. Pierce has been investing in his off-market weapon manufacturing company for years. Unfortunately for Hughes, Pierce has reportedly convinced the rest of the share holders to sell their shares to him, which will make him the majority holder."

"Essentially forcing Hughes out of his own company," Sarah Jane deduced.

"Right. Evidently, he's not all that pleased with Pierce at the moment."

"Sounds like just the person to invite to a party," Sarah jabbed sarcastically.

"The one he's dancing with, the Ouron? That Varrillo Ka'Torca. She's a health guru to the stars, and Pierce's personal "enlightenment coach." She's been accused of fraud more times than I've changed my clothes, and peddles some malarkey, fortune cookie wisdom for exorbitant prices."

"Con by any other name," Sarah sighed. She knew she didn't like her.

"Cruella De Ville over there," he smirked, nodding to the older woman in the fur coat, "Pierce's ex-girlfriend Drucille Danville . Acting career hit the skids as she got older, and so did her relationship with Pierce." They changed direction of their dance, Sarah now leading.

"Not nice of him, he's no spring chicken," she groused.

"Rumors say she was snogging with her director so... who's to say?" The Doctor shrugged. Drucille danced with the flirty prankster Sarah Jane spotted before. He was smiling widely at Drucille, who returned a revolted eye roll.

"That one is Pierce's nephew, Ricard. He's in the headlines because of his eye patched uncle, and his slew of scandalous tapes with various women," The Doctor's disdain was evident in his tone.

"T.M.I ," Sarah Jane tried to shake that image out of her head.

"Oddly when Pierce told me he only trusts one man, it was not his flesh, and blood, but rather Silas."

"I already ran into him, I was surprised to see him alive," she explained.

"Didn't find much on him, but that one," he addressed the woman Silas danced with next the young girl who appeared again unimpressed with the man in front of her, or the party as a whole.

"Genevieve LeBeau, heiress to the Galactic Fuel Conglomerate. Some reports claim she, and Pierce are in fierce negotiations, with him, attempting to acquire sizable stock in his company. They say she is, in reality, facing financial ruin, and he is going to bail her out."

"Why would he invite any of these people to a retirement party, none of them seem to even be his friends," Sarah puzzled. "These seem like the last people he'd want to see."

"Which begs the question, what are we doing here? One of these things is not like the other," The Doctor darkly returned as they stepped passed Pierce.

"We best watch our backs," Sarah nodded. Nothing was ever as it seemed these days.

"May I say, on a brighter side, you dance beautifully," the Time Lord commented, "who taunt you?" She felt a light blush rush to her cheeks.

"You did," she replied slyly.

Suddenly, the lights in the room went out, blackening the room utterly. Blacker than pitch, she could hardly see her hand in front of her face.

"This isn't good," she heard The Doctor growled in the darkness. Voices of the other guests echoed confusion though the room.

A bright blue ball of light tore though the black, streaking across the room faster than the eyes could see. A second returned in the opposite direction, dissipating in a flash in the room's center.

Just as suddenly as the lights had turned out, they clicked back on, illuminating the room once again. A high pitched scream, belonging to Genevieve, sundered the silence, and after a second Sarah Jane knew why.

Pierce lay on the floor, a smoking hole in his chest. His flesh was melted, and cauterized shut, and his single eye stared blankly into the ceiling.

Pierce Killcrest was dead, his retirement permanent.


	3. Beautiful Prison

The stunned silence that fell over the room, following the shrill scream of Genevieve, was absolute. No one spoke, not even in a hushed whisper. It was as though words were another shot, and another would die.

The Doctor took this time, not to be shocked, but to survey. He watched their reactions to the sudden death of their host. He wanted to see something, something out of the ordinary. A facial expression out of the norm, someone under-reacting, or over reacting.

It could be the first clue, someone not surprised, or too surprised. Unfortunately, he garnered nothing. Silas and Varillo's mouths both hung open, while Genevieve, and Barlow both covered theirs. The maid took it one step further, hiding her face in a rattled-looking Winston's jacket. Drucille was already in tears, and Ricard was white as a sheet.

All were appropriate, unfortunately, and gave no clues. Perhaps if any but Sarah Jane knew what was going on in his head, they would think him cruel. However, it was not a lack of empathy that drove him, it was being full of it. Pierce did not deserve to be killed at his own party, and The Doctor would find his killer. He owed that to him. He had saved this man once... he would help him in death again.

"Let me through, I'm a Doctor," he shouted, pushing past the flustered guests. He noted that Sarah Jane hung back. Her eyes were on the guests too; probably doing the same thing he had. She was good that way. So smart, so capable.

He checked Pierce's pulse, even though he did not need to. That hole in his chest did him in; no hope of survival. The way it was scorched, and cauterized... that was a plasma weapon, to be sure. Very expensive, and very deadly, not that money mattered in this room. With a group of super-rich business people, one of which produces weapons, they were practically just laying around.

He took out his sonic screwdriver, and messed with the settings. He wanted to do a full body scan of Pierce, mostly for residual radiation, or other effects. Although he already had an idea who, or rather what, had killed him, the type of radiation could confirm it.

He depressed the button on his tool. Much to his surprise, it did nothing. No warbles, or whines escaped it, nor did any readings come from it. Even the light failed him, it's green tip staying dark.

"Oh, that's a problem," he muttered. His screwdriver almost never failed. Only one specific thing could do that.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked, finally kneeling down next to him.

"Sonic isn't working... I think this room is deadlocked," he replied, waving his screwdriver back, and forth, then tapping it lightly to no avail, "Maybe even the whole house. That's a problem."

"What is that thing?" Barlow suddenly asked gruffly.

"Sonic screwdriver," The Doctor said absent mindedly. He was only half listening. When they asked something interesting he would pay attention.

"What good is a screwdriver going to do? He's dead!" shouted Ricard. Anger... good emotion when someone was dead. A little too good? Maybe...

"It's not just a screwdriver it's," Sarah started explaining, but the Doctor cut her off with a wave.

"Don't bother, he's too stupid," The Doctor interrupted, "so, which one of you did it?" He finally looked up from Pierce's body, glaring around the room. There was a killer among them, that just hadn't sunk in with everyone yet. Or they weren't letting on what they felt. He didn't care either way.

"You might as well come clean now, because I'm going to figure it out. Why not save yourself the time?"

"How preposterous!" Drucille snarled, crossing her spindle arms, "how are we to know it wasn't you?" He knew that wouldn't work, but he always tried. Maybe some day, someone will actually take him up on it.

"Yeah, no one here even knows who you are," Ricard piled on with a smarmy smirk. He already didn't like him.

"He's The Doctor," Silas butted in, the scarred man sticking up for him, "he wouldn't have done this."

"Besides, we're the only ones here who don't have a motive to kill him," Sarah Jane huffed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Drucille lowered her eyes, tilting her head menacingly.

"Everyone else here was either wronged by Pierce, or would profit from his death. Us? We haven't seen him in thirty years. There is no reason for us to kill him," The Doctor stated. He was, in reality unconcerned with what they all thought. It did not matter. Everyone here, including Sarah Jane, and he, were in grave danger.

"Well, it couldn't have been me, I was almost right next to him when the power went out, and that shot came from across the room." Varrillo seemed to already be trying to exonerate herself; that was promising.

"There were two shots," Barlow said derisively.

"I saw two shots too," Genevieve agreed. Winston nodded his head silently next to her.

"Maybe there are two killers!" Pierce's maid exclaimed, wild-eyed.

"There aren't two killers, stop being ridiculous," The Doctor grunted, "it was a plasma shot. The killer banked it off the mirror to hit Pierce, and hide his location." The Doctor pointed to the mirror at the front of the room, behind the buffet table. It was clever, clever indeed. He had destroyed an entire group of robots once, in Sherwood, using mirrored plates, and reflecting their shots. Not everyone knew that was possible.

"So, did anyone see where the original shot came from?" Silas asked. No one replied, instead looking at each other. Truthfully, it happened so fast, even The Doctor was unsure. He thought it was somewhere in the middle of the room, but it was hard to tell. Depth in the dark was not always as it seemed, and it happened so fast.

"So then, no one wants to come clean?" The Scotsman asked one more time, "it'll make everything easier. I don't know about all of you, but solving a murder was not on my agenda tonight."

"My phone isn't working!" Genevieve abruptly shouted, holding up her device, "I can't call for help!"

"As I said, this room was deadlocked," The Doctor pulled out his own phone. No service. Something must have triggered the lock, as he had been on the internet a few minutes before arriving in this room.

"Then we need to go, and get help!" Silas shouted. The group started moving out of the room quickly, The Doctor shoving his way to the front. They filed nosily back out into the entry hall.

The front doors were shut tightly. Three deadbolt locks ran down the center seam, key holes facing the inside. Although he did not need to, The Doctor tugged on the handles. It was locked, as he had expected. He pointed his screwdriver at it next, to no avail.

That was what was different, what had triggered the deadlock. The doors being locked completed the circuit. The whole house was deadlocked. State of the art security. The best Pierce's ample funds could buy.

"My screwdriver is useless here, as are most phones, even mine. We're trapped here, isolated," The Doctor said darkly.

"Fine, we'll just break it down!" Barlow shouted. He stalked to the adjoining hall, picking up a chair. He carried it back, and smashed it into the door.

With a surprised yelp, the chair ruptured apart, it's pieces shattering to the floor. Barlow stood gap-mouthed, rubbing his hands painfully.

"The wood is laced with something, probably Azbantium I would think. If this place is supposed to hold us, they would need to do that. Even if it's a softer material, like Diamond, or Forcromium, that door isn't coming down. I would expect the windows are laced the same, " he chattered.

"Why would someone want to hold us here? And kill Pierce?" Sarah Jane asked.

"While I don't know why someone killed Pierce, I do know it was him who has trapped us here," he replied.

"Why would he do that? I don't understand..." Silas trailed. Confusion mixed with hurt was evident on his face.

"Because he knew he was going to die tonight," The Doctor glared around the group, still looking for a wrong reaction, finding nothing. They would mess up soon, and he would see it. They couldn't hold it forever.

"How could you know that?" Ricard questioned, "you barely know him. In fact, I think it's suspicious you seem to have this all figured out already."

"I'm sorry, I'm smarter than you," he shrugged, "it was the things he said to me, how he acted. I think that is why Sarah, and I are here, we're supposed to solve this."

"Quite egotistical, wouldn't you say?" Drucille stabbed.

"This isn't helping. How do we figure this out, and more importantly, how do we get out of here?" Sarah Jane finally asked.

"This is why she gets to travel with me," he pointed with a grin, "that door is locked with, at least, three keys. I'm going to bet their hidden in this house, so we're going to have to find them."

"What is this? Some kind of sick game?" Genevieve yelled.

"It seems that way, yes. It would seem that we're playing Clue," The Doctor smirked, "house rules of course, as the host has given us half of the game. In the ball room, with the plasma gun. Now all we need is who."

"Then the solution is simple; search each guest for the gun. Who ever has the gun, is the killer," Winston reasoned.

"Why won't that work Sarah?" The Doctor again pointed to his companion. She was quiet for a moment.

"You can't find a gun that is built-in," she finally answered.

"Right! Someone here is not who they say they are or who they look like!" The Doctor shouted.

"Are you saying someone here is a robot? That's absolutely absurd!" Drucille argued.

"That's precisely what I'm saying. That weapon indicates that as does the mathematical precision needed for a perfect ricochet heart shot, and the absences of anyone else in the room. We just need to figure out who it is." That wouldn't be easy. Androids these days could easily disguise themselves as people. They ate, breathed, slept, even bled. Their synthetic skin even would sweat. If he had his sonic screwdriver, he could determine it immediately.

"I hear your more machine than man these days, Silas. Did they put a gun in there?" Barlow abruptly accused, pointing his stumpy finger.

"How dare you!" Silas roared in return, "you know what they say about he who casts the first stone! Besides, you make weapons like this for a living."

"I have no reason to want Pierce dead, he's my top investor."

"He was stealing your company right out from under your nose! You have every reason!"

"If it... it's... a robot, the reason isn't going to matter is it?" the maid stammered.

"Oh, on the contrary Ms..." The Doctor part it hang.

"Felicia Valentine."

"The reason could be everything. If this intruder is posing as someone else, it could have taken up their motives, and plans as a form of deep cover. If the person planned to kill Pierce, the imposter would need to do so to be that person." The Doctor could see the rotten knot this was tying itself into. He didn't like it. There was something else, something he was not seeing.

"But the killer, has his own motivation too, right? This could be an assassination for a reason that we won't ever even find out," Sarah compounded on his thoughts. She was right, and he knew it.

"Yes. And I can guarantee, which ever one of you it is, is going to try, and kill the rest of us, aren't you?" The group only stared at him, and each other. He hoped provoking it may help. Obviously it's programming was top notch.

That was another thing that disturbed him. Why all the robotic creatures lately? He, and Sarah had only just run afoul of a Cyberman, and recently a Raston Warrior Robot. A bit before that were Ice Warriors, which were cybernetically modified. There was a connection here, and he wasn't liking it. Mixed with rumors of disturbing dreams everywhere he went, the math was adding up to something dangerous.

"I still say it's you! You come in here, barely anybody knows who the bloody hell you are, and you know everything like some kind of psychic! I say we tie him down, and cut him open, find out if there's a robot in there!" Ricard abruptly hollered.

"Why don't you just shut up you drug addled, alcoholic idiot!" Varrillo came to The Doctor's aid, rather mind bogglingly, "your opinions were always stupid! The only reason your still around is because of how Zera died!"

"Don't you bring my mother into this! You were the one that broke her, and my father up! My uncle had to clean up the pieces after you stole him!" He replied venomously.

"You can't steal something that's already left!" The Ouron shot back. The Doctor had seen enough.

He stuck out both his hands, for everyone to see, and shut his eyes. He felt his body warm as the energy welled up inside of him. He opened his eyes to satisfaction. His hands and fingers glowed a beautiful gold color. The guests were shocked into silence.

"I'm not a robot, I'm a Time Lord. The only Time Lord. I'm two thousand years old, and, if I keep this up I'm going to regenerate, and blow this whole room, maybe the whole house, to pieces. Not a robot, got it?" Almost everyone nodded. And he let the fires die, his skin normalizing. Now that all of that was out of the way...

"Now, I need to try to figure this out, see if I can find a way out of here. Pierce may have missed something, and if he did, I'll find it. But I need time without you blithering imbeciles in my face to do it," he explained. He could barely hear himself think, let alone solve a problem like this. Their stupidity was probably contagious.

"So, what do you expect us to do? Stand around, and wait to get melted?" Barlow asked disingenuously. The Doctor answered in kind.

"Frankly, I don't care what you do. Look for a way out, talk to each other, drink scotch, flush towels down the loo, whatever; just give me an hour to see what I can come up with, then, if I can't find a way out of this, we'll formulate another plan. I doubt your all going to get killed in under an hour." He hoped not anyway.


	4. Paranoia

_(Hello Outlaw Gentlemen and Shady Ladies, who is ready for an announcement? So, I'm sure that many of you are wondering what Captain Jack Harkness is up to during the events of A Night in Killcrest Manor. Although he will pop up much later, a lot of blanks will need to be filled. Well, myself and partner-in-time-crime BannerFanner would like to announce our next cooperative project, The Harkness Files. What will Jack discover on his hunt for The Doctor? What secrets will be unearthed? What dangers will he face? Keep tuned in my lovelies. All in good time ;) Enjoy the next chapter)_

The Doctor continued to fiddle with the front door, as the crowd dispersed, leaving only he, and Sarah Jane. She knelt down next to him, eyeing the lock the same.

"Electronic keys?" She questioned knowingly. He nodded.

"Likely, very likely. Makes them un-pickable. I doubt that if someone went to all the trouble to fill the doors with nearly unbreakable ore, that their going to just let us escape via bobby pin. Besides, I don't want to leave anyway," he answered.

"We can't. Pierce doesn't deserve it. We need to figure this out," she agreed. She was just as driven as he was; he had always liked that about her.

"I'm starting to see a pattern here though, aren't you?" she continued, crunching up her face, as she so often did, "this is three killer robots right near each other... am I just being paranoid?"

"Saying your hair dryer is trying to kill you is paranoia, noticing that for some reason every robot we run into is killing people, is just good sense," he returned.

"So, if your not actually looking for a way out, what are you doing?" He smiled in return.

"Letting them get settled, see what they all do. It could be telling," he shrugged. Someone was playing a deadly game of chess here, and he had every compunction to play back, and he was going to win.

"Maybe we'll see someone plugged into the wall, charging up, hmm?" she joked sarcastically.

"How easy would that be? If we were to just figure it out within the next half hour? Then get on with the interesting stuff?" he mused.

"Oh come on, you know we don't have that kind of luck," she chuckled.

"I think we've given them enough time to meander about, want to go have a look, see what the suspects are up to?"

"I would say so," she nodded.

The pair began their walk about the house. He wanted to get a bird's eye view of what each guest did in the following hour after Pierce's death. To him, it could give him an idea of who his main suspect could be. No robot acted completely naturally. They were mimicking people. Like any computer, glitches were possible. One just had to catch them. Some were even so sophisticated that they understood the psychological toll murder took upon the mind, and could even manifest guilty behavior, once again as deep cover.

The first person they found was Silas. He was on the first floor, in one of the dens. He walked around, testing each window, knocking on the glass, and pulling on them. He was too, trying to find a way out. Was he just a man trying to get out, and get help? Or was he a killer looking for an escape.

Next they ran upon Winston. The butler was organizing the bar in the dining room, in a very stilted manner. His hands were deliberate, though absent, sometimes picking up a bottle, and moving it, only to place it back where it had just been. Though calm was his exterior, this betrayed how flustered he was. Though understandable after seeing a murder, was this someone guilt ridden after committing a heinous act? Sure, their opponent was robotic, but it would have the programming to mimic the after-murder nerves. Was that what this was?

They found Barlow at the same time, eating in that same room. He shoveled a meal of rice, and chicken into his mouth greedily, seeming unconcerned with what had gone on. It looked almost cold. He was a career military man, so perhaps he had become so desensitized by death, that it no longer bothered him. Or perhaps he was so unconcerned, because he had committed the crime, and he was more concerned with looking unconcerned than anything.

The pair moved upstairs next, finding Felicia dusting a hall table. Her liquid eyes were vacant, and her duster moved over the same area over, and over, in a circuit. She seemed to be attempting to busy herself, and not think about the corpse in the ball room. Or, maybe, she was attempting to blend into the background, and go unnoticed, as her gun fired from the dark.

Near by, in a sitting room, was Ricard. To no one's surprise, he had found the alcohol, and was drinking heavily. The Doctor had noticed his hands shake as he put the glass to his lips. Was that an android faking nerves following a terrible crime? Or just the shakes of an alcoholic, who had not poisoned himself enough today?

Drucille inhabited the same room. Her fur coat was off, laying across the back of the sofa, as the skeletal woman chain smoked cigarette after cigarette. This conundrum was the same as Ricard's; guilt, or merely a bad habit?

In the near-by bed chamber, Varrillo sat cross legged on the carpeted floor. Her eyes were closed tightly, her hands on her knees. Meditation, not uncommon for a so-called "Guru" as herself. Or perhaps, she was temporarily powering down.

The final guest, Genevieve had situated herself in a chair in the hall. She said nothing, but sat humped over, her mouth covered by her hands. She stared ahead, not looking at anyone, or anything in particular. Perhaps it was disbelief at her current predicament. Perhaps it was deep thought, in an attempt to divine who it was that would commit such a heinous act. Maybe it was a ruse, and she was contemplating her escape strategy.

It was all too frustrating to The Doctor. He had hoped he would have seen something, anything ,that could have cast suspicion on any of them. Instead, everything did. He could see a murderer in all of them, see the robotic killer beneath the skin. All it did was add fuel to a paranoid fire.

"Doctor... this door here is locked," Sarah Jane wondered aloud, breaking his chain of thought. She referred to a pair of double doors in the upstairs foyer. She pulled briskly on the pair of knobs, to no avail. That was odd. It made him wonder what was inside. Could be nothing, like a closet, or a wash room. Or maybe it could be a room housing a killer.

"Let me take a look," he said, kneeling down peering into the lock, "I can't use the sonic on it, because of the deadlock... I think I have a bobby pin around here somewhere," he continued to mutter, rifling through his pockets. He felt his yo-yo, a bag of jellybabys, few loose Jammy Dodgers...

"This door, is it infused with Azbantium like the front one?" His partner asked. He shook his head.

"I doubt it," he knocked on it with his knuckles a few times. Azbantium infusion made an alien tinny sound when knocked on inside of wood. This did not. "No, this one is just wood." It did not matter, he just could not find his pin.

He looked up as Sarah Jane's shoulder smashed into the door with a thud, followed by a crack of splintering wood. It swung free, and he looked at her, shocked. He had seen her knock in a door before, most recently when they ran into an angry Ice Warrior. It still surprised him. He couldn't help but sometimes remember that young girl he met so many years ago, when they were both so young.

"What? We don't have time for this, with an assassin on the loose," she shrugged.

"I'm just surprised you could do that in a cocktail dress," he shook his head, standing.

"I can run in heels too," she winked with a wry smirk. The pair entered the locked room.

This was Pierce's office, without a doubt. The gigantic, oak table that dominated the room was neatly organized. An tidy stack of papers sat in front of Pierce's computer, the holo-sceeen of which was powered down. More paintings hung on the walls, though none were by any artists The Doctor could note. They were all of pretty landscapes, one of a snowy forest, one of a shining waterfall, and another of a grassy field. A pair of windows revealed the view outside, the night sky rivaling those painted scenes.

What caught The Doctor's eye the most however, was Pierce's safe. It was embedded in the wall, and made of a black metal. An electronic pad glowed a dark blue, waiting for a code that would open it.

He wondered, what was in that safe. It could be nothing of importance; money perhaps, or business documents. Just maybe, something there would reveal a killer, or why someone would want his old friend dead.

He ambled over to Pierce's desk, and switched on his computer.

"Lets see if we can figure out why someone would want Mr. Killcrest dead," he muttered. Sarah Jane had already begun sifting through his papers, like the good investigator he knew she was.

Much to his chagrin, he was met with a log in screen, and a password bar. He sighed. He liked it so much better when people didn't give a damn about their own privacy.

If he weren't in a deadlock, this wouldn't even be an issue. He could just hack it with the sonic screwdriver, or force it to remotely interface with the TARDIS, and let his ship hack it for him. He could get into that monitor in five minutes, on a bad day. But like this, on top of having not seen Pierce for decades, he had no reference as to what his password could be. He knew almost nothing of his life, no pet names or anniversaries; he did not even know Pierce's birthday.

With no hope of breaking into his computer, he ticked away on the keys, typing in anything he could think of that may be important to the man. He tried a few key terms; Cyberman, Drucille, Killcrest; even Silas or O'Brian. They were all longshots, and he knew it, and none of them worked. All he was met were bright red letters shouting "Access Denied".

"Find anything, Sarah?" he asked frustrated by their situation.

"Not unless you're interested in leasing mining equipment, or ordering a refractive laser-cannon. Apparently those are very cheap right now," she muttered with a chuckle.

"Wait until the Dark Reach War in about six months, those will be a commodity," he murmured absently, "no codes to the computer, or safe?"

"Because you always leave your important codes just laying on your desk," she replied sarcastically.

"My second version used to. I wasn't very safety conscious back then..." he trailed, then waved his hand, clearing his head, before stroking his chin, "I can't help but feel there's something in that safe. I can't explain it..."

"Remember what you told me a long time ago," Sarah Jane smiled, "trust your gut." The Doctor nodded. Always using his own advice against him...

"Excuse me, may I speak with you for a moment," a voice interrupted them at the door. The Doctor looked up from their investigation, surprised to find Drucille standing in the doorway. She still clutched a cigarette between her wrinkled fingers, and her fur coat was draped loosely across her shoulders. How theatrical of her.

"As long as speaking isn't a euphemism for shoot me in the chest, come on in," The Doctor answered. She shot him a derisive look, before walking in, taking another drag off her dwindling cigarette.

"I think I know why someone may have wanted Pierce dead," her eyes were cold. Their was a calculated air to them. He did not see the love of a woman, nor the grieving of love lost. He saw nothing at all, just emptiness.

"No one here benefits more from Pierce's death than his nephew, Ricard. Despite his incompetence, Pierce has faith in him. This company is left entirely to him if Pierce dies before his retirement."

"Who was it to be handed over to otherwise?" Sarah Jane asked.

"Silas."

"So, what your saying, is that Ricard could effectively steal this company out from under his rivals. Interesting..." The Doctor contemplated.

"I don't believe that Ricard is your assassin, but I think he knows who among us is," Drucille clarified.

"Why are you coming to us with this information, you seemed less than helpful before," Sarah blurted. The Doctor had been wondering the same thing.

"Despite what the news will tell you, I did love Pierce once..." she sighed, stopping to take one final puff of her cigarette, "even if I hate his cheating, lying guts now. I owe him something..." That was very altruistic of her, but The Doctor could see another angle. She had simultaneously made herself look good, while throwing suspicion on Ricard. Actual concern? Or covering her bloody tracks?

"You wouldn't happen to know the code to that safe would you? I'm trying to find other reasons why Pierce was assassinated." The Doctor asked.

"It isn't that we don't believe you, we just need to look at all angles," Sarah added, ever the diplomat.

"No... he never let me in that safe. I don't even know what he keeps in it. He had a lot of secrets," she justified. The Doctor caught her posture change. She stood a bit straighter while answering that one, her eyes moved away from his face, and her right index finger ticked. She was lying to him. Humans had so many tells. Not very good for an actress, Drucille.

But why lie? In the face of death, with someone supposedly important to her laying dead down stairs, why hide anything? Even the most scandalous materials were nothing compared to a killer on the loose. Unless something in that safe would implicate her.

He was about to press her, when a sudden, blood curdling screech tore through the house. He recognized the high-pitched voice; Genevieve.

"Oh no, not another one," The Doctor growled, and he shoved passed Drucille, bolting through the door. Sarah Jane was close on his heels, with Drucille lagging behind her.

He followed the sound of the voice, and the commotion of all the guests rushing there, just as he had. When they arrived at the spare, second-floor bedroom, he knew who their next victim was.

All the party guests but two had gathered in the bed room, standing in a circle. One, Genevieve kneeled on the ground, head buried in her hands.

Next to her Varrillo lay on the floor. Her body was contorted unnaturally, her left arm pinned behind her back as she lay flat, and her head tossed back. He could tell she had been blown off her feet by her attacker. This theory was further backed by the gaping wound in her ribs.

A massive, messy, cauterized hole had erased her left side completely, scorching her blue skin black. It still smoked, white wisps rising from her, almost as though her soul was leaving her husk behind.

The Doctor set his jaw, and took a breath. It was as the feared. They were to be picked off, until none remained. This was death two. A dark feeling came over him; tonight was going to be long, and bloody.


	5. Family Time

The Doctor looked down at the scorched corpse of Varrillo, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. He looked away from her, at the crowd before her. Some showed looks of shock, or disgust, while others were blank. He could tell nothing from them; neither guilt nor innocence.

He stepped up, just as he always did, the first to examine the body. He had seen so much death in over two-thousand years... yet it still bothered him.

Guilt gnawed at him. He could have saved her. Somehow, someway, he could have stopped this. If he had just been in her room, instead of rifling through Pierce's office, or if he had found a way out of this. He knew deep down that was a lie; there was no way out. That was the point. That didn't mean it was any less preventable.

Or any less his fault. People always came out with the tired clichés; "You couldn't have known," or "You can't save everyone." Perhaps not, but maybe if he were more vigilant, or he was less consumed with hunting a robot, or finding a clue, or motive.

Varrillo did not deserve this. That bothered him. It was always the undeserving that died, while the monsters walked on. Was she guiltless? Of course not.

The rumors were clear, and probably true; she was a con artist of the highest skill. A health guru ripping off the extravagantly rich with Cracker Jack box wisdom, and quack medicine that would make doctors of the early twentieth century blush. Pierce had fallen into that trap it seemed, as so many of society's elite did.

From how it sounded, there was some sort of affair with Pierce's brother. That was not uncommon. Families were messy. However, it seemed that Ricard held animosity for the Ouron. Her sudden demise supported Drucille's accusation in a way. Only people who's death would benefit him had been killed thus far. Perhaps it was him, or his doing after all. Or perhaps The Doctor was off the mark.

None of these things made her deserving of a hole in the chest. There were very few who The Doctor considered deserving of such; those who commit genocide, torturers, and serial murderers perhaps. Whomever decided a perfectly good fruit like a pear should dribble off the chin, certainly deserved it. But a con artist who slept with the wrong man? Murder was too severe a punishment.

Her death, however, would not be in vain. He watched as the wisps of smoke dissipated from the melted chest wound. She could not have been dead for more than a minute, or two. Plasma smoke disappeared quickly. This allowed him to rule out one suspect; Drucille. She had been speaking with him at the time of the killing. The time frame did not allow her to kill Varrillo, and then speak to he, and Sarah Jane.

He would not divulge that information of course, as a tactical move. He did not need to let the killer know he was narrowing his field. Varrillo wasn't the killer, as she was now gone, and neither was Drucille. He was down to six options. The shoe could fit any of them.

As Genevieve kneeled on the floor, her face still in her hands, The Doctor watched as Sarah Jane knelt down beside her. She wrapped her arms around her, placing a comforting hand on the back of her head, like a mother cradling a hurt child. She was uncommonly kind...

His eyes drifted back to Varrillo's body, and he reached out two fingers, closing her eye lids.

"Oh please, give me a break," Ricard slurred, his intoxication evident, "we all know she did it. Cough up the gun sweetheart, party's over,"

"Have some decency you wretch!" Sarah Jane abruptly defended, "not everyone here copes with their problems in the bottom of a bottle."

"As disgusting as I find him, he has a point. She was the first one here, and the closest one to Pierce when he died. People just seem to die when she's around," Barlow added.

"Your one to talk. How many men have you put in the ground, in the name of war, or pleasure?" Silas bit, "maybe its you! Maybe you've been metal all along. Maybe that's why your so cold."

"And your hands are bloodless I suppose? You only sold the weapons, right? You never pulled the trigger yourself, you coward!" Barlow spat.

"You're all monsters, you know that? All of you!" Felicia shouted, turning the heads of everyone, "don't you see it? This is what it wants! Us to turn against each other, so it can kill us all!"

"Funny, isn't it?" The Doctor snorted, "the least educated amongst you, is the only one who actually understands what's happening."

"If you're so smart, why haven't you figured it out yet? All you seem to be good at is talking down to people!" Barlow fired back.

"He's doing more than you are! You're content to just sit here, while we all get shot to death!" Drucille spat.

"There's an easy solution to all of this..." growled Ricard, his eyes leveled at Genevieve, "we crack that girl open, and see if theirs a robot inside!"

With that final word, Pierce's nephew lunged grabbing at her, his mad, drunken, gaze frenzied. Sarah Jane was, of course, right in his path, the only thing standing between him, and the girl she comforted.

Winston grabbed at Ricard's waist, being shoved off by his waving hands, while Falicia was pushed aside in the commotion, falling roughly to her bottom.

The Doctor had seen enough, and reacted like lighting, bolting to his companions side. Just as Ricard's hand clawed at Sarah Jane's arm, The Doctor caught him. One wrinkled hand gripped his forearm, while the other clamped under his chin. He used Ricard's momentum against him, pushing him to the left, flat into the wall.

Silas was suddenly at his side, pinning Ricard's arm to the wall, while his left hand pushed on his chest. The Doctor handled his right arm, keeping his other hand on Ricard's throat. He gave just enough pressure to hold him in place, but not enough to choke or hurt him.

His ancient eyes glared into his, straight, and steady. Ricard's dark orbs revealed bloodshot fear; primal instinct to survive, but that ability was hindered by rum. There was something human in that, that amygdala reaction. Nothing, not even the most sophisticated robots, could fake that. Five choices.

"This is not how this is going to happen," The Doctor whispered calmly. The edge to his voice made his unsaid threat clear. "There has already been enough bloodshed tonight, and their will be more, I have no doubt. We don't need to shed it ourselves. We don't need to do it's job for it. I'm not about to let you hurt a possibly innocent woman out of fear."

"But what if she's...," he started to argue.

"What if she's not...," he answered back, "now I am going to let you go, and you're not going to act like a Cro-magnon. Do you understand?" Ricard only nodded.

"Good... and if you ever touch Sarah Jane like that again, you're going to wish the homicidal robot had gotten to you, clear?" Ricard nodded again. The Scotsman let go, as did Silas. Ricard rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, before slinking between the two. The Doctor gave Sarah Jane a concerned look, who nodded to him appreciatingly in return. He gave her a roguish wink in return.

"So... what do you suggest we do, instead of resorting to barbarism, that is," Silas finally asked, half joking. The Doctor did not quite see the humor.

"You all have people who know you are here, yes? I mean, supposedly important people such as yourselves, usually flaunt going to expensive parties like these don't you?" The Doctor asked, walking away from Ricard, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his pointer, and middle finger. He was getting a headache. Too much stupidity in one room.

"My assistant knows I'm here," Silas answered.

"I told my lawyer I was coming. He advised against it of course." Drucille replied.

"My adviser knows I showed up here. I sent him message when I arrived to come up with, an excuse why I could leave," Barlow shrugged.

"My... my... father knows I'm here," Genevieve stammered, her voice shaking.

"Where are you going with this? You said it yourself, we can't contact anyone," Barlow asked, condescendingly. His attitudes were standoffish at best, and outwardly disrespectful all other times. The more he was around him, the less he liked him. But what could he expect from an arms dealer?

"People know you're here. It isn't like you just dropped off the face of the Earth. If your as important as you pretend to be..." The Doctor let that hang in the air for a bit.

"Then, eventually someone will come looking for you," Sarah Jane finished, nodding. She caught on so quick, not like the pudding brains in this room.

"This is a waiting game. A battle of attrition. If we can wait the killer out, then we can make it out of here alive," reasoned The Doctor. Not his best plan but... it was a means to an end. He had a diffrent plan brewing in his head.

"And if the killer decides to just murder us all before them, like its already doing?" Drucille questioned, lighting another cigarette.

"Have you noticed it's only attacking us one at a time? That begs the question, why would it do that? Why not just show itself, whichever one of you it is, and kill all of us, in one shot? No fuss, no muss, no coconuts?" The Doctor proposed.

"It's outnumbered, simple strategy," Barlow answered. The Doctor pointed at him, with a smirk.

"That's a good arms dealer. Now, question; what does that tell us about it?"

"It's afraid of us?" Falicia asked timidly.

"Close! Along that line," The Time Lord goaded.

"It's not something particularly strong, not like a Cyberman, or a Dalek," Sarah Jane answered.

"Ding ding, give the lady a prize!" He shouted, forcing a smile from her, and strange looks from everyone else, "we can overpower it, that's why it hasn't attacked us in a group. When it did, the light's were out, and we couldn't see."

"So, your saying strength in numbers, until we ride this out?" Winston piped in, "isn't that a bit unlikely given that these people are already almost killing one another?"

"What do you mean, "these people?" Ricard sneered, breaking his blissful silence.

"My apologies Master Killcrest," his stuffy tone clarified, "perhaps I was too vague. Silver spoon fed imbeciles who would rather attempt to kill one another, instead of attempt a proactive activity, such as escape, or investigation."

"How dare you speak to me that way, your my servant!" Ricard answered caustically. Winston snorted.

"I was Pierce's butler, not yours, sir. You are not him, nor will you ever be."

"Your fired Winston. If we survive this, I want you out of this house."

"It will be my pleasure sir," Winston obliged.

"More to the point," The Doctor continued through gritted teeth, shooting Ricard a deadly glare, "if we stay together through the night, we may survive until dawn."

"What do you mean through the night? We can't stay here all night!" Drucille exclaimed.

"Unless you have keys to the door, or a way to break through it stuffed in that fur coat, then we don't have much of a choice." He knew she didn't have either, but she probably knew where one was; that safe. He still believed that she had the code. She was too odd when he spoke of it; and not his sort of odd. Suspicious odd.

Either say, they had no choice but to wait it out. He on the other hand, had a plan. While they gathered together for the night, he, and Sarah Jane were going to tear this house apart for those keys.

* * *

The night drug ever onward, as another pair of hours passed. Everyone had holed in one of the dens. The living quarters were just as lavishly furnished as the rest of the home, with oaken coffee tables, and paintings of landscapes, once again showing off Pierce's considerable wealth. A single, floor to ceiling window adorned one wall, overlooking the the walkway leading to the front door. From here, one could also see the majestic woods in the distance, the dark trees swaying in front of the moonlit backing.

The room had originally been furnished with only a couch, and two loveseats, but everyone had moved more seats into here. A second couch had been moved into the room, positioned by the loveseat, and a pair of chairs by the table.

As Sarah Jane stared out the window, down at the entry way, she couldn't help but see the irony. This beautiful house had become a prison for them. Escape was well in sight; if she looked hard enough, she could even see the outline of the TARDIS. She could see the way out, but couldn't actually reach it. She could see how it would be maddening to others.

That was not what consumed her thoughts. Instead, her mind was full of killers, and murderers. She looked around the room briefly. Ricard lay on a couch, probably trying to sober up. Barlow sat next to him, looking at him in disgust. Genevieve was in a chair near by. She had finally calmed down, and she was more intent on the window Sarah stared out of, than anything else. Perhaps, she too pondered their irony.

Drucille sat on one of the love seats, having a quiet conversation with Silas. The pair obviously knew Pierce well, and they had some common ground there, at least. Winston walked around, a tray in his hands, champagne atop it. He asked the guests if they wanted any, finding no takers. Felicia did the same with a platter of hor'dervs. Everyone was equally full, evidently.

They had set up at watch schedule for when they went to sleep, and they had locked the doors. No one had managed to rest yet however. She would be surprised if anyone would.

The Doctor stood, staring at the pair of double doors. His hand was over his mouth, resting on his chin. His eyes moved here, and there, and he squinted every so often. Her old friend was obviously in deep thought. She wondered what was going on in that head of his. What was he thinking about? Planning something perhaps?

She didn't know, and she turned her attention back outside. This killer, it could be any of them. The only one she truly trusted was The Doctor. For all she knew, a few hours ago, she had sat on the floor, comforting a robot assassin.

She doubted it. That kind of emotion, how raw, and visceral it was... that was hard to fake, even for something programmed to do so. She doubted the heiress was their killer.

Ricard on the other hand, was proven to have a violent streak. She had almost been subjected to it, were it not for The Doctor's intervention. He was not a nice man to be sure; spoiled, petty, and generally possessed all of the qualities Sarah hated. That did not, necessarily make him secretly an assassin.

There was, however, one possibility The Doctor did not seem to be considering. Their assassin was likely a robot, she agreed with that. Just the weapon of choice alluded to that. However, who was to say that someone here was one of them?

Yes, Pierce was killed with everyone in the room together, and everyone had a reason. But it was pitch dark when it happened. Who was to say that their killer hadn't been hiding somewhere, and struck at the most opportune moment. Who was to say it didn't have a cloaking device, or moved too fast to see.

Perhaps , he saw something she didn't. He was very clever, and highly intelligent. But she felt he may have jumped to conclusions.

She also wasn't convinced it was Pierce that had trapped them here. With an assassin who had infiltrated his life, who was to say it couldn't have put countermeasures into place, to keep them here? There were too many unknowns here. The Doctor was only following one course, when the possibilities were many.

She knew how he thought however, and she understood. He was following the idea that made the most sense to him, that he could put together the best. He could build on these ideas he had come with, while the others were tenuous at best.

"How are you feeling Sarah?" His Scottish voice suddenly asked from beside her. She hadnt even heard him walk up. He put her arm around her, and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"I'm alright, just trying to think this through," she replied.

"How is that going?"

"It doesn't paint an optimistic picture," she answered.

"Murder rarely does," he sighed. The look on his face changed after a second, his head whipping back to the door. His hands suddenly went to his forehead with a loud smack.

"I'm an idiot! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He shouted, drawing everyone's attention.

"What? What is it Doctor?" She asked frantically. He whirled around, grabbing her shoulders, looking her in the face, his eyes electric , and wild.

"Paintings Sarah! Paintings! I've seen them, and one of them is a fake. Pierce brought me to the dining room for a reason! And that was it!" He hollered. She had no clue what he was talking about, but she went with it.

"Come on!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hand, and running for the door. She trailed behind him.

"Hey!" Barlow shouted, as the pair reached the door, "I thought we decided we were staying together! What happened to strength in numbers?"

"You people are staying together. I'm not the killer, and when I leave, lock me out, because when I come back, I might have a way out of here," he replied, opening the double doors, and stepping through. He turned about, grabbing both handles, with a wide grin.

"Besides, I don't want to be locked in with a killer, I'm not crazy like the rest of you," he shouted, and slammed the doors behind him.


	6. Art Critics

He couldn't believe how stupid he had been. How had he not seen that which was right in front of his face. Ridiculous. The Doctor wondered if his old age was beginning to addled his mind.

"Where are we going? You still haven't explained anything," Sarah Jane asked hurriedly, as the pair quickly wound around another corner, and down another hall.

"Dining hall. I think. Unless I'm lost, which I doubt," he quickly replied. There wasn't the time to rightly explain; to much running through his head. To explain would likely cause it all to spill out at once in a stream of confusing gobbledygook. He knew how much she hated that. He just needed to get there, and look at those three portraits. Then he could gather himself, and figure it out.

"Why though? What were you saying about the paintings?" She asked, her voice full of confusion, with a hint of frustration.

"All in good time, Sarah Jane, all in good time," he answered cryptically. Even he wasn't sure... it was only a hunch, after all. But if The Doctor had learned anything over the course of his long life, it was to always trust his hunches. They had saved his life more times than he cared to think about.

The pair of Time Travelers entered the dining room, the pleasing blue light sparkling from the fireplace greeting them. They moved around the massive oak table, The Doctor stopping at the center of it. He looked up to the wall, at the three paintings he had admired earlier this evening.

A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, by Édouard Manet, Liberty Leading the People, by Eugéne Delacroix, and Sunflowers by Vincent Van Gogh.

These three works had stuck in his head, even despite Pierce's bloated art collection. Perhaps it was the close proximity of three famed paintings, all by classic Earth artists. Perhaps it was that Pierce had been here when The Doctor saw them for the first time. Maybe it was just his gut, telling him something was important about this room. He could not rightly say.

"What are you thinking, because I know you didn't bring me here to look at fine art," Sarah asked, looking at the same paintings. The Doctor cupped his chin in his hand, and continued to stare, first at one, then the next, then the next, almost as though he hoped that his conundrum would reveal itself. It didn't, of course.

"I'm not sure... something about this room isn't quite right..." he answered. If only he had his sonic screwdriver. He could just scan everything , and have it over, and done with. He hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on that tool until now. He would have to try and rectify that.

"What if we take them down? See if there is something behind them?" Sarah questioned. The Doctor nodded, and set about moving a chair in front of the first piece of art, Sunflowers. He climbed atop it, and carefully pulled the priceless item from the wall, lowering it down into Sarah Jane's waiting hands. She, in turn, carefully leaned the priceless work against the wall.

As The Doctor had hoped, there was something behind the painting. A red button was hidden there, in a divot in the paneling. He smiled, a tad self satisfied. Right again.

"Ten pounds says there's buttons behind the other two," Sarah Jane winked. He nodded.

The pair moved to the next two, removing those in the same manner, careful not to damage them. His companion had been on the money once again. Beneath A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, was a blue button, and under Liberty Leading The People, a green one.

"What do you suppose this is about?" Sarah Jane asked, tilting her head.

"I'll bet it's a door key," shrugged the old Time Lord. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. He was actually getting tired, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't understand why, he had only been awake for the last hundred and thirty eight hours. Paltry amount of time. He usually went a full three hundred before even getting the least bit drowsy.

"Ideas? she proposed.

"I'd wager... one is right, and the others are wrong," The Doctor murmured.

"If that's the case, we have a one in three chance," she replied. Always the optimistic one. That was a two in three of being wrong.

"I would wager... one of these is fake... and the others are real, or vice versa..." he said absently.

"And the odd one out is correct." She reasoned with him.

"Right, it may take me a bit, but I have faith in my abilities."

* * *

Sarah Jane glanced up at the clock, and sighed. Then she looked back at The Doctor, who stared intently at the three classic works. His left hand covered his mouth, his elbow resting on his other arm. From her seat at the table, it looked as though he hadn't even moved since he started.

He had barely said anything as well, which was vary rare for him, as far as she was concerned anyway. It told her two things about her old friend. One, he was in very deep concentration, and two, he was probably very frustrated.

She wished she could help him, but fine art was not necessarily her strong suit. Could she identify most of the classic works? Absolutely. However, she normally could not tell a forgery from the genuine McCoy, not unless it was something blatant.

The Doctor however, was good at that sort of thing. He had been present at the creation of some of these works, so he knew them better than most. He had apparently even met Vincent Van Gogh; she would have liked to have been around for that one.

She heard his sigh, and saw him rub his eyes with his thumbs. He needed a break, she could tell.

"I... don't see anything... I really don't..." he announced.

"Maybe you just need to give it a rest. Take a few minutes, and come back," she suggested.

"I think... these are all genuine. Either that, or the forger is an absolute master. I don't know which," he said.

"Alright so we're going about this wrong. There has to be a method to it. Maybe it's favorite artist, or something, or the first one to die or..." she reasoned.

"Maybe its... all of them... some kind of code?" He half asked.

"What about the order they were painted in?" his companion proposed. It made sense to her. For an obvious art buff like Pierce, that would be something he could remember.

"That could be!" he replied excitedly, "let's see here... Liberty is first. That one was painted in 1830."

Sarah Jane shifted the chair over, climbed atop it, and pressed the green button. Green for go she hoped.

"Alright... next is... The Bar. That was in 1882. I've actually been to that bar... he cleaned it up for that painting," The Doctor chattered absently.

"Really?" Sarah asked, pressing the blue button.

"Yes, far more vomit in real life," he replied, screwing up his face, "that leaves Sunflowers, from 1888." Sarah Jane moved, and pressed the final button.

At first, nothing seemed to happen, and she climbed down. That was unfortunate, they would have to try something else.

Just as that thought entered her head, the blue flames of the fire place puffed out, darkening the moody room. A loud grinding came next, like stone on stone. The pair hurried in front of it.

They watched in awe as the back of the fireplace slid open, revealing a box entombed in the wall. Made of simple metal, like an old style lockbox, one would never give it a second thought.

Cautiously, The Doctor stepped forward, and placed both hands on it, almost as though it was going to burst into flames. When it didn't, he clicked both front latches open.

Sarah Jane smiled, as she saw the contents. A small, strange key laid inside. It was curved like a half moon, with sickle teeth on both the top and bottom. She could make out a computer chip in it.

"This is definitely what we're looking for," The Doctor grunted, holding it up, and squinting, "probably need all three to interrupt the deadlock. Nice job Sarah Jane, brilliant."

"Thank you," she nodded, a bit of pride filling her. She knew him so well; he just over thought things some times. Symptom of being two thousand years old, she supposed.

"Doctor, I'm a bit concerned with something, if you don't mind," she asked. He slipped the moon key into his pocket, and looked at her, a soft smile on his hard face.

"You can always talk to me, Sarah, what is on your mind?" He asked, kindly.

"I'm worried we're jumping to conclusions here, about the killer. What if it isn't a robot in disguise as a person? What if it's stalking us, or it's invisible? I mean, you cannot really know, can you?" He looked at her for a few seconds, and shrugged.

"For sure? No. But I think that it is likely. Most of the invisible robots use EMP pulses, not plasma, because it is quieter. The Raston Warrior seems invisible, but all of it's weapons are metal, and what are the odds of us running into another one of those, honestly? Now as for one just sneaking about..."

"It's a big house Doctor, I think it could be likely." She answered earnestly. She wanted him to take all possibilities into account. It could hurt them, and the others, in the long run if he didn't.

"My reason for that one isn't very comforting..." he started, "think back to the old days. When we used to kick around together, and someone was lurking about, what usually happened?" She started to chuckle a bit at her forthcoming answer.

"Usually they cracked Harry in the back of the head, and we'd have to go save him," she joked. He chortled a response.

"True... but point is, we usually have poor luck with that, and find out about our stealthy friends the hard way." He knocked his knuckles on his head.

"So, until one of us takes one in the noggin, your going to operate under the imposter theory?" she couldn't believe how laughable that was.

"Yes. As stupid as it is, yes." he nodded.

"Too bad Harry isn't around, he'd just take the hit and..." she started

"Get drug off by Zygons, so we'd have to save him," The Doctor finished. They both laughed.

"All jokes aside, aren't you worried that your theory is wrong? And that the killer is hiding somewhere?" she asked. He sighed a bit.

"It has crossed my mind, I'd be lying to you if I said it didn't. However, I do believe that my theory is correct. And even if it isn't, and our killer has been listening to us talk, it doesn't know we have thought of that. And that's an advantage, if that's the case."

"Something else has been bothering me," she started, rubbing the back of her neck, "do you think Pierce was the actual target? I've been starting to wonder ever since Varrillo was killed. What if Pierce isn't the real target? What if he was just a cover?"

"I think it's more about not leaving any witnesses than anything. That was why I warned everyone to be careful, and that if we weren't it could try to pick us off. That is exactly what it is doing, as I believed it would," he argued.

"Maybe that's what it wants us to think. What if Pierce was just a smoke screen? To hide who tbe real target is?" she reasoned.

"Varrillo?" The Time Lord asked.

"No, I think she's the same thing."

"If your hypothesis is correct... then who is the target?" he asked.

"I... don't know," she admitted. She rubbed her hands across her face, closing her eyes. She was so tired. A trek through a mine, and a real-life murder mystery dinner had done her in.

"Are you all right Sarah? You're not getting sick, are you?" he asked, with genuine concern in his old eyes. He raised his hand to check her for a fevor, but she waved him away. So fussy.

"I'm just tired," she answered.

"You should get some rest, Sarah. It will do you good," he replied.

"I can't... it's not safe," she argued.

"Here, come on," he said. She followed him, as he led her out into the hall. Near by, there was a cream colored sofa sitting in the hall.

"Here, lay down," he said, motioning to the sofa, "it's alright."

"But Doctor..." she started to argue.

"No, you need sleep," he interrupted, with finality. "You're no good to anyone exhausted."

She looked at him for a few moments, before finally laying down. She curled up on the soft piece of furniture, trying to get comfortable. It was difficult in her dress, but she managed, tossing her heels to the floor.

The Doctor sat down next to her, placing his hand on her cheek, gently giving it a comforting pat.

"What about you? You can wake me up if you need to sleep later," she said. She didn't need him exhausted, not on her account.

"I don't need to sleep Sarah. I'll be fine. Besides, someone has to keep you safe from the killer robots," he shrugged, with a genuine smile.

"You've always taken that job," she smirked.

"Always will, what else is your best friend for?" The Scotsman asked.

She settled in, closing her eyes.

Sleep took her before long, blissfully unaware of the night's activities. The horrors of the morning were far away.


	7. Bathed in the Blood of the Innocent

_(Author's Note: I hope you guys are enjoying this so far. I've actually got all the chapters done, I just have to edit and post them, so you guys won't have to wait too long for the next one. Who knows I might even just binge post it. Anyway, here's hoping you enjoy this rather... disturbing chapter. It's about to get messy. This is dedicated to my friend MiricatBlackwood. Thank you, you always take my broken pieces and give them back in the right order. Much love to you my oldest, most trusted friend)_

"Exterminate!" the electronic voices screamed. Sarah Jane ran around the corner, a pair of deadly blasts scorching the wall where she had just been standing. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to beat it's way out.

The Daleks were right on her tail. She dare not turn around. She did not want to see the terrors behind her. Not how close they were. Not their eye stalks tracking her. Not their guns adjusting for her speed. She didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing her fearful face. They loved it when their prey ran. When they could see the fear. If she was going to die, they would have to shoot her in the back.

The dreary metal hall shook, and she stumbled, barely keeping her footing. Another explosion. She had to find The Doctor. He couldn't be dead.

A door on her left opened. She heard the servos in the legs clunking before they came from the dark. The cold metal men with the heads shaped like handles, hands grasped for her, their black eyes soulless.

"You will be upgraded," it droned, and she veered to the left.

"Catch heeeer!" the Dalek voice further behind her screamed in metal fury, "She must be exterminated!"

"Non-compliance detected! Delete! Delete!" The Cyberman agreed.

She ran. Ran for all she could, down a hall that stretched forever. Electric shots, and green rays of death melted, and scorched the walls, and floor. Another bend came, and she turned, her enemies nearing her.

This emptied out into a darkened room. She could only make out one object of note, a shining mirror made of silver.

A figure blocked her path, though she could not recognize him. He was old, with a beak of a nose, and a length of neatly cut grey hair. He adjusted his waistcoat, and removed his top hat, an evil grin curling across his cruel face.

"So glad you could join us Miss Smith. Welcome to the end of the Time Lords."

He fell out of focus slowly, darkness shrouding everything. She stirred, awakening upon the couch. Just a nightmare... that was all... that was all.

* * *

The Doctor watched as Sarah Jane stirred. She was beginning to come out of her hazy sleep. That was always an odd moment to him, that second between wakefulness, and sleep. It held secrets of the subconscious that were normally not remembered in the minds eye. He wondered what secrets her head unearthed in those small moments between times.

She was awakening just in time. The planet's first sun had begun to rise in the north, painting the sky orange, and red. The second would begin it's ascent soon, joining it's brother in the skies. He hoped the day would be more productive than the night was, and less bloody. Two people were enough.

The Doctor had been good on his word. He had not left Sarah Jane alone all night, despite that he wanted to rip this house to pieces looking for the remaining pair of door keys. He couldn't leave. If something happened to her while she slept, he would never forgive himself. He would rather protect her, and end up staying here longer, than leave her, and get out earlier, possibly with her corpse.

Of course, this also meant that he did not sleep. He was already feeling fatigued when he sat down, and now more so. The rest had done him some good certainly, but it was not the same as actual sleep.

He had spent the night contemplating their predicament, as there was no internet to distract him. Too bad too... he was really looking forward to watching season two of In The Thick of It. The problem was, it all came back to what he did not know. He did not know who their killer was. Sarah Jane had furthered that, as now her idea had wormed it's way into his head. Perhaps she was right, and the killer was not one of the guests, and instead something lurking in the shadows. It only added to his growing paranoia. No one but Sarah Jane was trustworthy to him. Anyone could be an enemy.

Everything came back to the safe in Pierce's office. He couldn't think of another place where a key could be contained. He knew Drucille knew the code. He could tell she was lying to him when she said she didn't know the code. It was not a wonder her acting career hit the skids if she couldn't even lie convincingly.

He hadn't pushed her, not yet, but it was coming to that time. That safe could be the way out of here. Even if there was a single door key there, than it was worth it.

After that it would be about finding the final one. He was not sure where to start. However, he would figure that roadblock out when he reached it.

"Good morning, Doctor," Sarah Jane yawned. Sitting up sitting up sluggishly. He snickered at her appearance. Her hair was a mess of matted loose strands jumbled about by sleep.

"Oh good Lord, no. I can't let you go off looking like that," he murmured. He took his hands, smoothing her greying brown locks back into place. She scrunched her face, giving him that same odd look again she so often did. Annoyance perhaps? No... probably gratitude. Yes that was it.

He finished, giving her a tap on the cheek. Pretty as a picture.

"Are you done?" she asked shaking her head.

"Yes, you're welcome," The Doctor smiled. She rolled her eyes with a light laugh.

"I could have done that myself," she said.

"And now you don't have to! You're welcome!" he exclaimed. She didn't have to thank him so much.

"Did you sit there all night? You must be exhausted!" she suddenly realized.

"I'm fine, fit as a fiddle. I don't need to sleep. When we get out of here I'll just take a few cat-naps, and..."

"You know I've seen you actually sleep, right?" she interrupted with a chuckle, "I know you say you don't but I'm not like your other doe eyed pals. That cat nap stuff doesn't fool me." He didn't answer. Better to keep the mystique.

"What do you say we go, and check on our other friends shall we?" he asked, "maybe set about getting out of here?"

"I would like that very much. Not that Pierce hasn't been a wonderful host," she said sarcastically.

As the pair headed back up to the den, The Doctor prayed they had done as he had asked. He did not want to find a room full of corpses. The guilt would kill him.

They approached the doors, and The Doctor wrapped on it three times with his knuckles.

"Room service!" he shouted. He waited a few tense seconds, then heard the shuffling footsteps. Good, at least someone was alive in there. That was somewhat promising. He hoped he didn't get shot the second that door opened. How unfortunate would that be?

The pair of doors swung open, the sight of a tired looking Silas greeting him. His fine jacket was disheveled from sleeping in it, and his eyes ringed with dark circles.

"Hello Doctor, good to see you," he greeted. Behind him, the Time Lord could see Drucille was also awake.

"Glad to see you too, Silas," Sarah Jane greeted politely.

"And alive, that's the important bit," The Doctor added.

"Did you find a way out of here yet? I know you set off for it last night..." Silas probed.

"Not quite but I'm on the right track," he replied. He kept it vague, in case this was an assassin attempting to find out if a loose end was about to get away.

"I hope we do... no one else needs to die," Silas added, his mouth a straight line. Stress, and grief; that was what that showed. Or a mockery of it.

"Let's wake up the natives shall we?" The Doctor smirked, slipping past Silas. Sarah Jane followed him through, giving Silas a comforting pat on his shoulder.

"Alright everybody!" The Doctor yelled, clapping his hands obnoxiously, "wakey wakey eggs, and bakey! Up, and at em, humans, and robot assassin alike.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you," Barlow grunted, peeling himself off the couch. He looked over at Ricard, who lay on the floor in a mess of covers. He visibly rolled his eyes, giving the young man a kick. "Come on you lush, get up."

Ricard didn't move, and The Doctor eyed the covered man suspiciously. He walked over to him, passing a stretching Genevieve, and ripped the covers off of him. If it made him angry he didn't care, he needed to be sure he wasn't...

He was greeted by empty eyes staring at the ceiling. Pierce's young nephew's face was still contorted in a mask of terror, eyes wide, and mouth agape. There were no obvious injuries, no burned holes like Varrillo, and Pierce, but The Doctor could see the signs. He was an old hat at murder, unfortunately.

Ricard's eyes were overly bloodshot, and he could see small spots of blood in the whites. Petechial hemorrhaging. His skin was blotchy, and red in some places, and his nose was a bit bloody. All signs of strangulation.

His neck was the real tip off, covered in a coat of purple, and black bruising. The Doctor noted the shape; not in the shape of fingers, or some sort of garrote. The wounds were thick, and rectangular. They reminded him of some type of clamp.

Those were hands alright, just not those of a human. However those were consistent with the hands of some robots, or cyborgs. The Doctor touched the side of Ricard's neck, and felt the bones give. Broken, probably crushed. That took force. Granted, Ricard wasn't particularly strong, or even fit, but that was overboard.

Their opponent was smart. It could have fired off it's gun, and killed Ricard cleanly, but it would risk waking the others. It opted for something quiet.

His thoughts on this assassin were starting to shift. He first thought that it was killing in isolation to avoid being overwhelmed. However, if it caught Ricard unaware, and no one else was awake (which he was leaning towards, as any awake party would have likely been killed with him) it could have eliminated all of them while they slept. That begged the question; why didn't it. He could see two options here; Ricard was the real target ,and the killing was going to stop, or this was a form of psychological warfare. It was trying to scare, and demoralize it's opponents, and target. It wanted them off their pins.

That was the more likely option, and it bespoke of something far more sinister. If this was the case, it was more than a simple assassination. What sort of game was someone playing here, and the motive behind it? What if all of these precautions preventing them from leaving, were unknown to Pierce as well, and he had been caught in this just as they had, but he just happened to be the first victim?

The Doctor let out a frustrated sigh. Normally, investigations became more clear to him the longer they proceeded, not more foggy. He was realizing something even more horrifying, he knew absolutely nothing. Not whom their attacker was, not who the intended target is, not even the motive.

An even more terrifying thought suddenly crept into his head... what if this was Pierce's doing? What if it was suicide, and he planned to take them all with him? He tried to shake that one out of his head; the others he could understand, Pierce wanting to see them dead, but he, and Sarah? He doubted the old pirate miner was a complete sociopath.

"You had a watch schedule set up, did you not? Who was awake with Ricard?" The Doctor asked. No one was supposed to be awake alone, in case they were the killer.

He looked around at the other guests. No one looked sad to see Ricard gone. They all looked more afraid for themselves. He couldn't blame them. Not really.

"I was," Barlow blurted out.

"Then it looks like we have our killer," Silas accused immediately.

"Shut it you great git, I fell asleep," Barlow scoffed.

"Even I have to admit, that's quite convenient that the only person who could have seen what happened to Ricard, was 'asleep', The Doctor said, standing.

"You'd best be careful, old man," Barlow threatened, "if your going to accuse me of something, you'd best have proof."

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just pointing out, that it looks bad for you."

"Almost everyone else in this room has more reason to want him dead than I do, even if our little homicidal manic is a robot." Barlow sneered.

"Besides... where were you?" Genevieve broke in, "you were the only ones who left. Every time you two disappear someone dies..." she did not have the cruel edge to her voice someone usually had with such a statement. It was more fear, and mistrust. He did not blame her.

In a way he was to blame, and he could not deny that. If he had stayed, waited to find that key until morning, he would have been there. He would have been awake. Maybe the killer would not have struck with him up, or he could have stopped it, there by finding out who was doing this. He couldn't deny his part. All evil required was for good men to do nothing. And that was what he had done.

"The door was locked. We couldn't have gotten in here," he reasoned.

"Doctor... where are Winston and Felicia?" Sarah Jane abruptly cut in. Everyone stopped their argument looking around. The Doctor kicked himself. How did he not notice that they were missing? Stupid. So stupid.

"Where did they go?" Silas asked no one in particular.

"Maybe they've been kidnapped," Genevieve gasped.

"Don't be so naive, it hasn't taken anyone yet, why would it take them, of all people. The people in this room are worth far more, than those two will ever be," Drucille shot down.

"Not in morals, obviously," Sarah Jane sniped.

"Bloody hell... I heard them… Over heard talking about going to the kitchen last night, but I thought they meant in the morning, not in the middle of the night," Barlow informed. He was not making himself look good here.

"Are you with holding anything else, Barlow? Anything else we need to know?" The Doctor asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Barlow shouted stepping forward aggressively, "do you think I did that on purpose? Just go ahead, and say it! You think it's me!"

"I'll tell you exactly what I think..." The Doctor shouted right back, anger spilling over. He was interrupted by his companion.

"Stop it! Both of you! We don't have time for this! We need to get to the kitchen, and see if those two are alright!" The Doctor nodded, taking a deep breath. As usual, Sarah Jane was correct.

"She's right, we can sort this out later," The Doctor agreed.

"We'll finish this later..." Barlow replied through gritted teeth. The Doctor was not afraid of his veiled threat. Barlow was child's play.

The group rushed through the house, straight for the kitchen on the second floor. The Doctor hoped the pair were alright. He had been up all night, we should have heard something if they were in trouble.

They came upon the room in question, and he opened the door.

A long rectangular room, it was obvious that Pierce had sunk a pretty penny here. All the appliances were state of the art, and top of the line. His microwave alone probably cost seven thousand dollars. The Doctor was sure it didn't cook any faster than his.

The counters were made of granite, and everything had it's place. The knives were in their block, all the pots hung on the wall. Even the butcher block was spotless, even though it's scars betrayed use. The cabinets were made of pine, and all closed neatly. Everything about this place was well cared for. Even the floors were spotless...

But for the body laying upon it. The Doctor's hearts sunk as he saw Winston laying on the floor. He was unrecognizable; the plasma shot having hit his head. All that was left of his debonair face was a disgusting, melted mess, glued to the floor by the sheer heat of the blast.

Across the way, was another door, leading to a pantry. It was ajar slightly, kept open by a high heeled foot sticking out. The Doctor stepped over Winston carefully, moving reluctantly to the pantry. He knew what he would find, and he did not want to see it. He pushed the door open.

The pantry was stuffed with food; enough to feed a small army. Boxes of bread, and dried fruit sat aginst one wall, and a shelf of cans, and tins dominated another. He noted where another shelf had been, and was now moved haphazardly against the other, this one containing excess vegitables.

He did not see right away why it had been moved, but realized it quickly. There was an odd indentation in the wall, shaped like a human hand. It was larger however, and thicker, too big to be an actual person's.

Near by the indentation, was Felicia's delicate hand. Severed from her body, it was stuck to the wall, shriveled black, and melted. She lay beneath it, her liquid eyes staring blankly up, a terrified expression still marring her face. Her stomach was a melted mess of cauterized flesh, obviously the wound that killed her.

What was that indentation, he wondered. It was obvious she had been putting her hand into it when someone took her life. What did she know that no one else did? That looked like it could be some sort of secret door. A way out, perhaps? Or something else?

His thoughts were interrupted by Barlow's snide voice behind him.

"This doesn't look good for you Doctor, this doesn't look good at all."


	8. Ladyfingers

_(Author's note: Let's see who among you figures this out first ;D make me proud out there Outlaw Gents and Shady Ladies. First one gets a cookie)_

"Don't you even dare," Sarah Jane scolded, much to Barlow's surprise. Even though he knew neither of them had done anything, The Doctor had to admit that Barlow was right. It looked terrible for he, and Sarah Jane.

Were he someone else, he would think he was the killer, just with the evidence here. He ,and Sarah were the only ones outside when this happened, as far as anyone knew. That made them the prime suspects. He would think the same.

He was trying not to concern himself with that at the moment. That did not matter, not really. What mattered, was that hand print on the wall.

It was obvious what it did; it read someone, or something's, hand print. What it did after that, was a mystery. Open a door perhaps? Maybe it was a way to call for help, or activated a security system. More than likely though, it was a door.

The Doctor first thought it read Pierce's hand, but it was too large, too thick. He couldn't imagine any human who's hand could. Except for maybe someone who ate steroids for dinner every night. It had to be something important. She died for it, thinking her hand would work.

"The evidence is against you, my dear. Even you must see that," Barlow continued.

"You can't believe that... can you? The only people trying to protect you?" Sarah Jane argued. Somehow she still always tried to see the best in people, to delve for it, if she had to, even if they gave up on her.

"And doing a fine job so far," Barlow smirked. He was enjoying this, his moment in the sun. Who could smile in the face of two dead innocents melted beyond any semblance of being people? What sort of man was that?

"You do have to admit, it doesn't look good Sarah..." Silas agreed, seemingly begrudgingly. The hurt on Sarah Jane's face was evident. A man she believed to be her friend, now turning on her. He wasn't surprised. There were only four suspects left. It was every man for themselves at this point.

"It's not them, it can't be," Drucille abruptly but in, much to The Doctor's surprise, "they were with me when Varrillo was killed. It can't be them."

"That doesn't mean much coming from an actress, like you." Barlow scoffed, "I think your all in this together. I think..." The Doctor had had more than enough of him now. He was done being polite.

"No one cares what you think Barlow!" The Scotsman snapped, "if anything, your my main suspect right now. When we came back this morning, the door to the den was locked!"

"What does that..." Genevieve started to ask.

"It means someone re-locked it after those two left!" The Doctor shouted, "or maybe after the locker in question came back!" Barlow narrowed his gaze. "You say it doesn't look good for me, Soldier Boy, but I'd say it looks far worse for you."

"Maybe Winston, and Felicia locked it with a key when they left, and no one knew, just as the Sergeant said." Genevieve reasoned.

"Someone knew, they're dead!" Sarah Jane countered. The Doctor had reached his limit. They needed to act, now. At this rate, if the assassin didn't kill them, they would do each other in.

He moved passed Barlow, and Silas, to Drucille. He placed both hands on her skinny shoulders, ducking his head so to look her in the eye.

"I need the code to Pierce's safe. I need it now," he prodded. He was firm, but he didn't want her to feel threatened.

"I don't..." she started.

"Yes, you do. I know you lied to me, and that's alright. I understand there is something in that safe you don't want other people to see. I don't care what it is, how scandalous it is, or damning it is. We're dying, Drucille. I need that code."

"Do you think there is a key in there? A key to the door?" She asked. He could tell she was considering it.

"Yes, I do," he nodded, "please, help me." She hesitated, her wrinkled lips quivering.

"Zero, two, eight, four, then press five, and nine, at the same time," she relented.

"Thankyou,"he was grateful to her, for her cooperation. He turned around. "Let's go open her up, shall we?"

As the group entered, Pierce' office, Sarah Jane could not help but be on edge. Three deaths over night, and they were no closer to discovering their killer. Actually, in a macabre way, they were. They knew Winston, Felicia, and Ricard hadn't done this.

Ricard had no redeeming qualities to her. He was an alcoholic, lecherous, brute. That did not mean she wanted him to die in such a way. Strangulation; it was a torturous way to go.

Winston, and Felicia upset her more. Winston had seemed polite for the most part, and Felicia very kind. They both were respectable, and she never had a cross word with either of them. The brutality of their deaths... Sarah Jane had seen many terrible, ugly things in the company of a Time Lord, but she would have a difficult time erasing Winston's coagulated head from her mind.

This only left them with four options. Drucille had been with them when Varrillo was killed. This could narrow it down to three, but the actress was awful quick to point that out, not only covering The Doctor, but herself. Sarah Jane could not be sure of the timing of that homicide. Only two people could, one was dead, and the other made her that way. She would keep an eye on her.

Regardless, Barlow was her main suspect. He was supposed to be awake when Ricard was. What better time to kill him? His supposed ignorance of Winston, and Felicia's plan was insulting. He knew, and did nothing. Not only that, she agreed with The Doctor. Someone re-locked the door.

She was even beginning to doubt Silas, and Genevieve. She had initially thought that the heiress could not have faked such emotion, but now, she was unsure. Although she wanted to believe that Silas was her friend, despite his agreement with Barlow's accusations, she could not deny that he could be the killer. It wasn't the first time someone she believed was her friend, was a foe in disguise.

The Doctor hurried into Pierce' office, passed the desk, and to the gigantic safe. Sarah could not help but notice his haste. His motions were hurried, and she saw his eyes dart to the other people. He wanted to figure this out, and he couldn't. He wanted to prevent more loss of life; he wasn't succeeding at that either.

"Hey, Barlow's gone," Silas announced, a worried tone in his electric tinged voice. That about sealed it for her. Why else would he disappear after three deaths, and a myrid of accusations.

"I know, he turned away as we left the kitchens," The Doctor waved off, starting to imput the code into the safe.

"Why didn't you say anything?" came Genevieve's exasperated question.

"Because it doesn't matter. If he's the killer, he's giving us time to prepare, or escape. If he isn't, he's making himself a target, which is also buying us time," reasoned the Time Lord.

"So, if he isn't killing us, he's bait? Is that all we are to you, usable assets?" Genevieve shook her head.

"Your the business woman, you tell me." He seemed unconcerned with Barlow leaving, but Sarah Jane knew better. He was gathering himself, and calculating the options. Most importantly, he wasn't panicking.

This Doctor in particular was very organized, not like some of his counterparts. He compartmentalized what needed to be done, and proceeded. He was efficient, even when he seemed like he had no clue what he was doing. Currently, he was dealing with the safe. Afterword, he would deal with Barlow. Perhaps others misunderstood him, but not Sarah Jane. She had known him for far too long for that, and had gotten to know this version well.

The Doctor finished typing the code, and, with a blip, the heavy door swung open. Sarah Jane stepped forward, peeking over The Doctor's shoulder, into Pierce's safe.

There were only three things inside. One, was some sort of playable disk inside a case. It had no marker on it to tell what it was. Beside that was a second key, just as The Doctor had expected. Upon seeing it, the Time Lord plucked it from it's holdings, and held it up.

It was the same as the other, curved like a moon, with scythe like teeth on either side. It was identical to the first, even in the placement of the chip on the side.

"You were right," commented Sarah Jane. That was one step closer to them getting out of here. His maniac grin was reply enough.

"So, that's it? We can unlock the door?" Genevieve asked, her tone hopeful.

"I think we need one more," Sarah replied, letting her down easily.

As The Doctor slid the key into the pocket of his coat, his attention returned to the safe. The final article was a thick metal hand, with a hole in the palm. Wires jutted out of the wrist, and she noted it was dented, and scratched heavily.

She knew what it was immediately. It was a Cyberman hand, and she had an idea where it came from. Although it was thirty years ago, to Pierce, yesterday, The Doctor, and Sarah Jane had met Pierce when he was young. He, and his group of miners had awoken a severely damaged M3 Cyberman. Sarah Jane, and The Doctor were able to disable it for him, saving most of his crew from the hideous machine. Evidently, it had made him wealthy enough to begin his business pursuits.

And that was a piece of it. Why had Pierce kept a section of such an awful machine? Sentimental value of having been his first business success?

"Please, may I have that... that there?" Drucille asked, pointing a spindle finger at the disk. The Doctor looked at her, then the item. He picked up the disk, holding it up.

"Is this what you were protecting?" he asked, his deep eyes ever analyzing.

"Yes... please..." she nearly begged. It looked almost as though her cold eyes were about to tear, though she held it back well. The Doctor turned it over in her hands, before holding it out for her to take it, with a smile. She took it, cautiously, narrowing her eyes.

"Aren't you going to ask what is on it, why it's so important?" she asked.

"Trust me, I don't care," the Scotsman replied. He turned his attention back to the safe as Drucille put the disk in the pocket of her fur coat. Sarah Jane was curious what was on it, that would cause her to risk everyone's lives, as well as her own, to protect it, but she did not ask. If she had wanted everyone to know, she wouldn't have gone to such lengths to protect it.

She watched as The Doctor pulled the Cyberman hand out next. He examined it, moving the fingers, and prodding the palm. She half expected it to come to life, though it didn't, much to her relief.

He looked up from the metal hand, his eyes far away, before snapping back, looking at her.

"This is it Sarah, this is what that print in the wall is for!" He shouted. So excited were his movement, he accidently smacked the metal creation of the edge of the desk.

It made sense to her, and she suddenly felt thick. How could she not have seen it. It was human shape, but large, and thick, exactly like the hole in the wall.

"That's all well, and good, but we still need one more key. Unless you think it's behind that..." Silas pointed to the hand, making a circle with his finger.

"I don't know what that does, Silas. But it's certainly interesting isn't it," The Doctor replied.

"And if the key is not there?" Drucille questioned.

"There's only one other place we haven't looked yet. I hadn't thought of it until now, but it makes perfect sense."

"Where Doctor?" Sarah was ready, where ever it was. She would help any way that she could.

"Pierce's body," he said firmly.

"That's ghastly," Genevieve gasped. She noted that Drucille looked particularly unnerved by that prospect, her face having bleached out.

"If it comes between that, and being killed I'll do it," Silas stated.

"What if we split up, cover both?" Sarah proposed. It made sense. They could cover more ground, in case one of the options was wrong.

"I don't think..." he started, but Sarah cut him off. She knew what he would say, and she did not want to argue with him.

"It may make getting out of here quicker. Besides, I can handle myself, Doctor. You don't have to worry." Even though she wasn't keen on being caught by the assassin, she had faced worse. She had beaten worse. She wasn't a fraud like Varrillo, or a rich do-nothing like Ricard. She was a companion of The Doctor!

"Alright," he smiled, knowingly, "take Silas, and Drucille. I'll take Genevieve." He took a step forward, placing both hands on her shoulders. His wise eye's peered into her, his tone serious. "If you find the key, you open that door, and get out of here, you hear me? Don't you dare wait for me Sarah." He dug into his pocket, pulling out both keys, and placed them in her hand. She smiled back.

"Why do you bother telling me that? You know I'm not going to do it."

"No idea, tradition I suppose," he shrugged.

"Daft old man," she shook her head.

"You hang out with me, what does that make you?"

"Good luck, Doctor."

"Same to you," he replied.

With Silas, and Drucille behind her, she left the room, glimpsing The Doctor starting toward the kitchen. As they wound through the hall, she hoped the key would be on Pierce's body. She did not want to see anymore death tonight. She wanted to see this brought to a close. If they could just call for help, the authorities could sort it out.

Yet, she knew that would not happen. If the killer was in that room, it knew they were almost out of here. If it was Barlow, which she was now thinking it was, especially considering his sudden disappearance, then he was preparing for the final act. He wouldn't want them to leave. A confrontation was boiling either way.

"What is on that disk?" Silas abruptly asked as they walked.

"I would have assumed Pierce would have told you, of all people," Drucille answered.

"No... he never mentioned it. Or the hand for that matter. Turns out Pierce kept a lot from me," Silas shrugged.

"It's proof. I'm sure you know of Pierce's proclivities, don't you?" she sounded genuinely surprised.

"I don't know what you mean..." he left that statement hang.

"Pierce was gay, and that video was blackmail he ended up forced to buy. It's the only copy," she answered.

"What? That's absurd! You two were..."

"A fake. He didn't feel like he could be respected in his business if he was gay, so we faked a relationship. It helped my career too, and protected his."

"So that business about you, and him breaking up?" Silas questioned.

"Publicity stunt. It got my name back in the paper, and his stock prices sky rocketed. I'm surprised he never told you, his best friend." She sounded genuine.

"So am I... especially you two keeping that up for twenty something years," Silas answered. Sarah imagined he felt betrayed, and lied to. She understood Pierce's side however. Some were not as easy going as herself, and The Doctor, (and Drucille, evidently), and she could see Pierce preferring to hide it.

"So all that about you loving Pierce back in his office?" Sarah Jane asked.

"I do love Pierce... like a brother. I couldn't let that proof fall into the hands of someone who would sell it to the press, watch him get torn apart posthumously." It was a far more altruistic motive than she had originally thought. Perhaps the shallowness was only a veneer.

They walked down the steps of the main hall, passing the large entry doors once again. Sarah Jane hoped that the next time they walked by them, they would have a means of escape.

She cautiously reentered the ballroom. It was almost eerie how silent it now was. No conversation echoed across the room, and no music assaulted the ears. It was silent as a tomb; which, in a way, it was.

Except much to her shock, that which would make it a tomb, was not there. The spot where Pierce had laid was empty. No trace of his corpse existed, as though he had never died there in the first place.

"Where... the bloody hell did he go?" a shocked Silas asked. Sarah Jane had no answers for him. Something else was at work here. She did not know what, but it was very bad. Very bad indeed.

* * *

The Doctor walked briskly back through the halls leading to the kitchen, Cyberman hand in his clutches, and Genevieve at his back. He looked down at the hand. He could not help but wonder what was behind that door, if it was even a door. For all he knew, it was a self destruct system, or let loose a killer dog. He did not know why anyone would keep either of those things in a pantry, but he saw a basket of pears in there. Obviously Pierce was an animal, so it was all up in the air.

"Do... you think we're going to get out of here?" Genevieve asked quietly.

"Yes, I do. I have every intention of getting you out of here, alive," and he did. At this point, with so much death, even discovering the killer was becoming secondary. Too many people had died. He was The Doctor; he had to save people.

Thy entered the kitchen, The Doctor trying not too look at Winston' s melted face. He couldn't imagine his horrific last moments. People thought that death was painless, just because it was quick. It never was, not even then.

Genevieve kept her eyes forward, not looking at either of the bodies. She seemed to take the deaths much harder than anyone else. He wished she hadn't had to see any of it. Unfortunately, that was not the way of the universe. Everyone saw horrors. They either learned from it, or were destroyed by it.

He stepped into the pantry, and over Felicia's body. She was too young to die that way. He held up the Cyberman hand, ready to place it into the groove.

A loud zap tore the silence of the room, and a green red flash came from behind him. No...

He rushed back out, just in time to see Genevieve hit the floor. A blackened hole smoked in her chest, and her hands twitched and tore at it frantically. Her pretty eyes gazed up at him painfully, and one hand reached up, before dropping. The life drained from her eyes, becoming a blank stare.

"I was wrong Doctor, _this_ doesn't look good for you."

Barlow stood in the doorway, an evil grin on his cruel face. He held a glowing plasma pistol in his hand, still smoking with the shot that killed Genevieve.


	9. Rule of Two

"Keep your hands where I can see them. I don't trust you," Barlow sneered, his gun trained on The Doctor's chest. The Doctor stood very still, not daring to move a muscle. He did put up his hands, keeping the Cyberman part clutched, flopping awkwardly. He was not afraid of guns, but he had a respect for them. He had died by them a few times even. Not the most pleasant way to go out.

"So, your the one, eh? Not very stealthy of you showing me that your going to kill me before you actually do," The Doctor taunted. He needed to buy himself some time, try and find a way out of this. This room was long, and narrow, no room to maneuver in a fight, or even to avoid one. Can't dodge a shot if you're banging into a counter.

Barlow chuckled, walking forward a few steps. Good, close the distance. He was making it easier to get that gun out of his hand.

"No, I'm afraid not. Try again," he replied. The Doctor narrowed his gaze.

"I just watched you kill Genevieve, exactly how stupid do you think I am? And, careful how you answer that."

"Oh, I did kill that little harlot. And these two," Barlow motioned to Felicia, and Winston, "but not the others. Those were your killer's doing." He gave him the weasel smile of someone who thought they knew everything there was to know.

What he was saying was, there were two killers. He would have wondered how truthful he was, except he made it clear how much he hated Ricard. He would have claimed that one, if he would be so brazen claim the murders of the two most innocent people in the house. He seemed like the sort that took no shame in any murder he committed.

"So I was right? You locked the door behind them, after you killed them," The Doctor confirmed. Barlow snickered, stepping forward again. Keep coming. That was what he wanted.

"I was impressed with that, I'll admit. Your powers of deduction are better than Sherlock Holmes himself," Barlow complimented.

"Elementary, my dear Barlow."

"Hehe," he snorted, "you pegged that from the start. I heard them talking about leaving earlier in the night. Something about a door in here. They had no damn idea how it worked evidently, but they thought they could figure it out. So when I heard them leave, I just followed them out here and... well... you know the rest."

"And the only reason you could get out, and do that was because you killed Ricard first, because he was the only one that was supposed to be awake to see it," the Scottish Time Lord wanted to catch him in a lie.

"Good try," Barlow wasn't having any of it, "I told you I didn't kill him. No, your killer you've been hunting did him in. Oh, are you going to be surprised who it is! You're so far off the mark!" he let loose a chilling laugh. No kindness lived in it, just malicious intent. However, he had just let slip that he knew who the killer was.

"If you know who it is, then you saw it. If that's the case, why aren't you dead?" If Barlow was willing to be so talkative, he was going to pump him for all the information he could.

"The best lies are rooted in the truth, Doctor. See, I really did fall asleep when I was supposed to be awake with Ricard. When I did wake up, that thing was choking him," Barlow snorted, "not that he didn't deserve it, because, believe me, he did."

"So, as it finished it's work, it turned to me, with that gun pointed at my forehead. It walked over to me, ready to blow my head all over the walls. In a panic I asked it to explain it's primary programming. And it stopped," he smiled a kind of grim smile that came with dark resolve. This was not something the old Sergeant wanted to do, but something he felt he had to. What did that android do to him to force him to take such drastic measures? Did he think doing it's job would get him out alive? Because it wouldn't. It would just kill him when this was all over. He took another few steps toward The Doctor.

"Do you know what it told me? Who it is actually here to kill? I'll tell you, it's not Pierce, or Varrillo, or Ricard, or any of the dead people," his voice dropped into a lower tone, more angry, and menacing. "You. It's here to kill you. Not us, you. You, and that woman you came with."

A nauseated ball formed in The Doctor's stomach. Was that really what all of this was about? Did all these people die because of him? If that was true, how did know he was going to be at the party? Perhaps it intercepted the the message from Pierce.

Yet, if that was the case, why did Pierce act so strangely, as though he knew tonight would be his death? Was it truly just the musings of an old man who's time was running out, and the circumstances changed The Doctor's context? Or, did he somehow feel he was going to die.

There was always the possibility that Barlow was lying to him. Maybe he was lying about everything and he had killed all of them. Maybe this was all a mind game. Yet... something told him this wasn't. There was more at work here.

Something, or someone was pulling strings. Every robot he, and Sarah Jane met was attempting to kill them. Everywhere they went, terrible nightmares of Daleks, and Cybermen, haunted people who had never seen them. Now, suddenly, an assassin was sent here to kill him. What was going on, and who was doing it?

"See, I am alot of things, but I'm a business man at heart. I negotiate billion dollar deals over brunch, I can handle a robot. So I made my offer, that I would do the deed for it, and in return, it will let me go. You know what Doctor? It accepted," that same smile spread across his face. The Doctor could not tell if he was mearly cold, and cruel, or if he was losing his mind.

"Why kill them, then? You had no reason to! You could have just shot me, and be done with it!" The Doctor shouted. They did not need to die, not if he was the target. They were innocent in all of this.

"You think they're just going to let me walk after I kill you ,and your little friend? You know they won't," Barlow answered, "no one gets to walk away from Killcrest Manor tonight, no one but me."

"You think that, do you? Pardon my intrusion on your little dream here, but how stupid are you?" The Doctor asked, aghast, "Do you really think that this thing is going to spare you? Just let you go, after what the both of you did? You know that's not going to happen, just as well as I do. It's not going to leave any witnesses, not even the people who helped it."

Barlow did not answer right away. The gun in his hand shook a bit, only for a second, or two. He may have been a career military man, and an interplanetary arm's dealer, but killing other soldiers, and killing civilians were two different things. That was never more apparent to him, than right now.

"It... doesn't matter. I've already gone this far, there is no going back..." he replied, "I'm sorry Doctor, but your time has come." Barlow raised his gun.

As he pulled the trigger, The Doctor grabbed the old Cyberman hand by the palm, holding the appendage up like a shield in front of his face. The melting shot hit the metal, bouncing back a Barlow, the force knocking the Time Lord off his feet. He heard Barlow shout, and saw his gun go flying from his hand, the barrel melted beyond use. He saw Barlow look down at his hand.

Two of his fingers, his ring, and pinky finger, were melted off, and cauterized black. His wild eyes fell on The Doctor, who scrambled to his feet. Barlow was going to try and fight him in hand-to-hand combat. The Doctor was a master of many forms of martial arts, but most required some for of movement. This kitchen limited that. This was not going to be good.

Barlow came forward with a holler like a wild beast. The Doctor struck first, the palm of his hand colliding with Barlow's jaw as he reached him, followed with a left cross that staggered him. Barlow was not to be outmatched so simply, coming back with a heavy left hook. The Doctor ducked back, just out of range, countering with a jab that slid just passed Barlow's ear.

The soldier's uppercut came next, brutalizing The Doctor's stomach. He sucked up the blow, his palm coming back with a heavy strike to the temple. Barlow stumbled, and The Doctor went in for another, wanting disable his attacker before they damaged each other further.

But Barlow recovered faster, hitting the Time Lord with an overhand left. The heavy punch cracked across his jaw, and his knees went weak. His vision filled with spots, and he tried to blink them away.

Barlow was on him, faster than he could recover. He charged him, grabbing him around the waist, and throwing him on the floor. Barlow landed atop him, and his hands on his neck. The Doctor punched up at him, but physics were against him. His hits were weak, and Barlow's hands were strong. A mad look in his eyes, his fingers squeezed, The Doctor pawing desperately at this hands. Spots appeared in his eyes, and the edges of his vision began to go black. He fought, just to get a breath. Just one. He was going unconscious. He couldn't. He would die...

Suddenly, with a loud clang and a scream of pain, Barlow fell to the side, his hands releasing The Doctor's throat. The time traveler sputtered, and coughed as precious air flooded his lungs, his light-headedness fading.

Above him stood Sarah Jane, a metal frying pan in her hands. Drucille, and Silas were behind her.

She knelt down next to The Doctor, fear in her deep eyes. She dropped the pan, placing both hands on his cheeks, looking him in the eyes.

"Are you alright, Doctor? When I came in here, and saw him I..."

"Gave him a piece of your mind, like always," he smiled gently, "I'm fine Sarah, thank you." She had saved him again, something they often repaid to each other.

"I used non-stick too," she winked, but concern clouded her voice, "Not going to regenerate?"

"No, I think I would have already," he returned. He didn't have that feeling like he was going to explode, so he figured he was alright. He stood up, and looked over Barlow.

He knelt down beside him, placing two fingers on his neck. He felt the steady thump of his pulse.

"I didn't kill him, did I? I hit him as hard as I could." she said, worried.

"No, he's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up though," he observed, "let's restrain him, shall we? Silas, give me your jacket."

The Doctor took his off as well, tying it around Barlows wrists behind his back, while he tied Silas' around his ankles. It wasn't ideal, nor even secure, but he was likely going to be too busy vomiting when he stood up to go anywhere. That concussion wasn't going to do him any favors.

"So... it was him? He's the one?" Silas asked.

"No, he's not. He killed Genevieve, Felicia, and Winston, but not the others," The Doctor explained. There were only two possibilities left to him, or maybe one. Silas... because it wasn't Sarah, or Drucille. But he had to play this carefully. If it was Silas, than he was doing the same math, and he would strike soon.

Yet... something did not feel right here. What Barlow said stuck in his head, and buzzed around like an angry fly.

"Oh, are you going to be surprised who it is! You're so far off the mark!" Barlow's voice echoed in his head. Was he just playing with him? Or was he really off on his conclusion.

"Poor girl," Silas sighed, kneeling over Genevieve's body, closing her eyes with his fingers "we're almost out of options here... there's only four of us... by God, Doctor... tell me it's not you." His electrical voice was defeated. The Doctor didn't answer him. He barely heard him. What could he have meant by that? It was more than a taunt... what wasn't he seeing. He had been missing something from the very beginning.

"Someone moved Pierce's body, Doctor... we couldn't find the key," Sarah Jane reported, laying comforting hand on Silas' back. That statement snapped him from his thoughts.

"What do you mean someone moved it?" The Doctor asked, suddenly frantic. That was it. That was the key.

"It's gone, his body is gone. Why would someone do that? What could that thing want with it?" Drucille asked, a single tear rolling down her cheek. This was all finally getting to her, cracking that hard shell.

"The body... that's it," he murmured distractedly

It all clicked in his head, his thoughts whirring like the gears of a newly fixed clock. It all made sense. He hurriedly pushed past Silas, grabbing the fallen Cyberman hand off the floor. He had it all figured out. He knew who the killer was, and it had been right in his face the whole time, but his arrogance had blinded him. More importantly, he knew what that door in the pantry was, and it was a door. It was doubtless.

"Doctor, what is it?" Sarah asked. She had known him long enough to see that mad spark in his brain.

"Come on, over here," he said, moving into the pantry. The three behind him followed, and he placed the Cyberman hand into the indentation. He waited a few seconds, before a loud beep came from the slot. He pulled the cyborg hand out as the section of the wall moved back, and slid aside.

The room beyond had once been a panic room, with metal walls, and floor. A cot sat in the corner, and a shelf with food sat In the other. A weapon rack sat near the bed, though it was empty, and a computer screen hung on the wall, displaying various functions of the home.

In the center of the room was a metal pedestal. Atop it was a holographic hexagonal globe that spun, and twitched. A chair sat next to it, with thick cables connecting it to the mechanism.

A man sat in the chair, electrodes stuck to his temples, running to the globe. He was older, with a bushy grey beard, and unkempt grey hair. His suit was of fine quality, with a long withered carnation in the lapel.

The Doctor would hardly recognize the man, were it not for the black hole where his left eye should be.

"Ladies, and Gentlemen," The Doctor announced, "I give you, the real, Pierce Killcrest."

* * *

The glow of the computer screens illuminated the smiling visage of The Great Intelligence. He had stayed focused on one, single unit, and the chaos it had caused in Killcrest Manor.

It had taken The Doctor so long to figure all this out, he had begun to doubt that he ever would. He had given him ample opportunity to do so, even ordering his soldier to save The Doctor, and his imbecilic pet for last.

Yet, it seemed he was having a battle of wits with someone pathetically armed. He had thought once that The Doctor had been a worthy opponent, but it seemed he was no more a challenge than any other, and would fall like the rest. The spectacle had been enjoyable, and perhaps, before the light died in his eyes for one, final time, he would realize what all this was for; to hold up a mirror, and show him his true face. The monster named The Doctor.

It would now come to an end. There was more to do before the day was through. Destroying the only being capable of stopping this, was only a part of it. Other flies would be swatted soon enough. He just needed to insure enough of The Doctor was left to recover his body.

"Take direct control," he commanded. As the visor lowered down over his face, his smile returned. He would relish this. The destruction of The Doctor was at hand.


	10. The End is Just The Beginning

He looked at the unkempt man in the chair before them, connected to the machine at his side. The Doctor understood what all of this was, and he could not believe that he had not seen it all before now, that he didn't put it all together.

"My God... that's Pierce," gasped Silas.

"How... how is that..." Drucille stuttered.

"Downstairs, that wasn't Pierce. It looks like no one has been dealing with the real Pierce for a few months," The Doctor answered

"What is that thing he's hooked up to, Doctor?" Sarah Jane asked.

"Mind sink. That's... that's future technology. No way is that supposed to be available now. No society has that," he puzzled. This was even deeper than he thought. It was a time anomaly.

"How is that possible? What the bloody hell is it doing to him?" Silas demanded.

"It's uploading his memories to a matrix, giving the assassin full access to Pierce's mind. Everything he knows, everything he's seen, even things he doesn't consciously remember. It literally knows him better than he knows himself. It keeps him in stasis, in the moment that he was put in, so his body can go without nutrition, or function. The only body function that actually continues is the growth of hair and nails. It's so that it can mine his head."

"But... why? I don't understand any of this," Drucille shook her head.

"It's beyond you, and I'm not insulting your intelligence, it's a fact. In short, this is about me," The Doctor explained. "This party was a set up, from the beginning. That assassin was here to kill me, because whoever controls it, knew I'd come to Pierce's party. That's why the doors, and windows are laced, and deadlocked. This place is meant to hold me."

"Then why murder everyone else?" Sarah asked.

"It shot itself to throw me off the trail; banked the shot off the mirror, and played possum. It's a robot, so there is not pulse, or signs of life," he ignored her question for the moment, but he would get around to it, "with my sonic screwdriver, I would have been able to scan it, and see the android inside, but without it, it looked like a corpse. The first to die, was the first to kill."

"You asked last night if this was a game Drucille? It is, it absolutely is. Our mastermind, he was killing people as the game's incentive. The longer I took to figure it out, the more people died, even adding a second party as mitigating factor. My enemy is testing me. The keys, hiding the real Pierce, the dead man being the killer; all of it is a puzzle I was supposed to solve."

Who was deranged enough to put this together? The Mistress? No, she was too egotistical, she would have shown up by now. Davros? No, not his style. He preferred mass murder. Who?

"Is this what you do?" Silas started. He Doctor waved him off. He needed to think.

Silas susddenly grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around roughly. His eyes were full of angry tears, his lips quivering with fury.

"Is it?" he shouted, "just fall out of the damn sky, and destroy people's lives? Twice I've met you, and both times, practically everyone dies! Do you always do this? I used to think you were a hero!" he pointed violently at Pierce, "he, used to think you were a hero! You're just a bringer of death!" He was silent for a long time, looking into the eyes of a victim of his presence here.

"That was your mistake," he replied darkly, "I'm not a hero." He turned his back, his attention on Pierce. He walked over to machine he was hooked up to, pressing the switch on the side. "But I am getting you out of here."

Slowly, the holo-globe faded, disappearing. He watched as Pierce twitched, and shuddered, his eye shooting open with a gasp. His arms went wild, swinging a left hook at the air, tearing the electrodes from his temple.

"Get off o' me you son of a!" he started, before looking around blankly, blinking a few times. "What the bloody 'ell happened? Where am I? And..." his cycoptic gaze fell on Sarah Jane first, then The Doctor, "my God, smack me mother sideways."

"Hello Pierce, welcome back to the land of the living," greeted The Doctor.

"What... what happened? Last thing I remember, I couldn't open my front door, and this metal... blighter jumped me, and now I'm here!" He swung his legs over, standing. He was a tad shakey, but considering most who ended up hooked to those could barely function when they first woke up, he was already in better shape than most.

"Cliff notes? There's a robot assassin in your house pretending to be you, most of your staff, and business partners have been murdered, and we have two out of three keys to your front door, and need to get out of here before it kills us all. Caught up?" The Doctor rattled off.

"Thirty something years later, and you're still up to the same stuff eh?" he smirked, shaking his head, "got a plan to get rid of it?"

"None what so ever," he returned.

"Figures," he dug into his jacket pocket, producing a sickle shaped key, teeth on both ends, just like the other two. "This help?"

"Abundantly," The Doctor nodded as Sarah Jane took it.

"I don't know if it'll work, that thing locked the doors on me remotely," Pierce shrugged.

"Alright then, let's get out of here, get help!" Silas said.

"Can you walk?" Sarah asked, laying a hand on Pierce's shoulder.

"I'm fine. 'Gonna take more than that piece a crap to take me out, let's get out of here," he boasted. If he wasn't careful, overconfidence would be the death of him.

They moved from the panic room, and into the pantry, The Doctor again stepping over the body of young, sweet Felicia. Was what Silas said true? Was this all he wrought in his path? It was not the first time he had heard that said about him, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He would like to rail against it but... it wasn't entirely false. So many died because of him...

"Christ..." he heard Pierce whisper, as he looked at Felicia. They moved out into the kitchen, greeted by the twin bodies of Geneviev, and Winston, as well as the still unconscious Barlow. Pierce said nothing, but a deep sigh showed his grief well enough.

They moved through the maze of halls, The Doctor still gripping the Cyberman's hand. He had no screwdriver, so, other than his wits, and charms, it was his singular defense. It was coming for him now, he could feel it.

They exited into the main hall. Down the steps was the front door, for which they had the keys.

Standing between them, and the exit, was the other Pierce. The melted hole still in his chest, he stood rod straight, unmoving. His eyes were dead, lifeless.

Slowly, it's skin shifted, separating in to miniscule cubes. Each one rolled around, and into one another, cycling into the host itself, leaving behind the original android. He had seen it's type before , though it had obviously upgraded since then. A cold nausea settled in him.

It was mostly human in shape, though it's limbs consisted of metal rods. It's head appeared almost like a spoon-shaped lightbulb, and it's hands were thick clamps. It's barrel chest was lit with a cold blue light.

A Spoonhead. He knew who was doing this, no matter how impossible. There was only one being that used those. The last time he saw them, they were formidable, but not to be compared to some of his other enemies. This one however, was different.

He noted the targeting laser on it's shoulder, a yellow beam swaying back, and fourth as it searched for a target. It's stick limbs were wrapped with flexible coils, almost mimicking corded muscles. The metal it was created of, shown silver. It was unnatural, and only one type of robot did that. It was built out of Cyberman metal.

"You... you're dead," The Doctor, stated, pointing at it.

"Obviously, you were mistaken," the cold, calculated voice transmitted through the android. It could only belong to one being; The Great Intelligence.

"No, no I'm not. I watched you leap into my timestream at my grave!" He realized how insane he sounded to everyone else, but it was arbitrary at this point. This opponent, and he, had history.

The Great Intelligence was an entity of pure arrogance, and evil. No one knew from where he came, but he left destruction in it's wake. From bringing to life predatory snow to devouring people's minds through their computers, The Doctor had foiled his insidious plans over, and over.

When last he met him, The Great Intelligence was a formless wraith. It had hooked onto the body of a scientist named Doctor Simeon, whom The Doctor destroyed. Though formless, he still was able to wreck havoc with it's incorporeal allies, The Wispermen. After abducting his friends, it forced The Doctor to go to the planet containing his own grave, Trenzalor. There, he lept into The Doctor's timestream, thereby killing itself, but ripping apart The Doctor's life in the process. Only through the intervention of The Doctor's companion Clara, was the damage healed.

But it would not have healed The Great Intelligence. His presences was... impossible.

"My my, your becoming addled in your old age, aren't you?" he asked, "Think! Think about your grave! You didn't die on Trenzalor as you were supposed to! You cheated your demise!"

"Which means you, and Clara never jumped into my timescar, because it never actually existed" The Doctor finished. Trenzalor was supposed to be his final battle. On his final regeneration, he spent eight-hundred years fighting a war he did not belong in. Only through the intervention of the Time Lords was he given a new set of regenerations, allowing him to "cheat death". He hadn't realized The Great Intelligence would as well. How could he be so dull.

"Now you understand. You've given me another chance, you see. Another chance to end you as I was supposed to," he gloated.

"Why do you remember it?" The Doctor asked, "it never happened, why to you still remember it?"

"The same reason you do," he replied, "I have evolved in the time since we last met. I saw the entirety of your life in that scar, and when the Time Lords allowed you to live, I saw the rest of it, and all of the blood you will shed for eons to come! I have become a temporal being, existing outside the laws of time, just like you." A chill ran through him. The Great Intelligence was practically that already. For him, it was like ascending to Godhood.

"If you are so "evolved," he quoted sarcastically with both fingers, "than why all of this barbarism? Why not just kill me in my sleep, or while I'm in the loo? Why kill all these other people?"

"It is proof, Doctor. I want you to see you can't save them, and how your incompetence caused their deaths. I want you to realize that all you are is an angel of destruction. And now that you do, you will share their fate" he chuckled. Pain tore into his chest. In his hearts, he knew he was right. This was his fault, all of it. He could do nothing about that, not now. Nothing except stop this madman, before he did this again.

"You have made a grievous error. You have proved nothing, and done nothing but make me angry. You want me? Here I am. Give it your best shot," The Time Lord threatened.

"My pleasure." As those final words came, so too did the gun, replacing it's clamp hand. Like lightning, it raised it, firing off a quick shot, aimed at The Doctor. He was faster, catching it in the Cyberman hand. He staggered from the force, running back up to the second level, two more shots scorching the stairs behind him.

The Spoonhead took two long steps, suddenly leaping through the air, over the rail of the balcony, cutting off his retreat.

He turned about, ducking as another shot sizzled over his head, running the other direction.

"Get the door open Sarah!" he yelled, "break the deadlock!" It was focused on him. Perfect. That was just what he wanted. He pulled his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, holding it in his other hand. If she did her job, as he knew she would, it would be working soon enough.

* * *

Sarah Jane tore down the steps, Drucille, Silas, and Pierce right behind her. She needed to do exactly as he said, or he wouldn't survive this. He needed his screwdriver. Following that, he needed her, and she would never abandon him in his time of need.

She did not know who The Great Intelligence was, not really. She had never met that one, but she vaguely remembered seeing him in one of The Doctor's shared memories. Crule, and old. She had dreamt of him after seeing him in those memories, last night as a matter of fact. How ironic was that?

They reached the pair of front doors, and she took out the keys. She slid each into the locks, and turned them. She prayed that The Great Intelligence was too distracted by trying to kill The Doctor that he didn't think to shut the door remotely.

As she turned the final key, and turned the handle, she felt the door move. Slowly, she pushed it open, then it's partner, revealing the outside. She had never been so happy to see that cobblestone walk in her life, nor feel sunshine on her face.

"Go, get out of here!" she pointed to the door, "The Doctor, and I will handle this. Get to safety." She ordered.

"Sarah..." Silas started.

"Don't argue, you practically died last time, not this time," she silenced him. Drucille grabbed Silas' arm, tugging him to the door.

"Thankyou, Sarah. Be careful," she pleaded. The pair walked outside, and rushed down the walk.

"You too Pierce," she said to the old miner. He shook his head.

"I'm not leaving, this is my house, and that bloke upstairs needs me," Pierce replied.

"Listen, you are not equipped for this," she reasoned.

"You two aren't either. Besides, it stole my eye patch," he pointed to his old wound, "I can't stand for that." She snorted unintentionally. She couldn't really argue with that. She also knew how crafty Pierce was years ago. She doubted that had changed.

"Alright," she nodded quickly, trying to formulate a plan, "we need to get two metal platters out of the dining room. I have an idea." It wasn't a good idea, by any means, but it was better than nothing.

* * *

The Doctor ran down the halls, into the den room everyone had holed up in hours before. He just needed time, time for the sonic to turn on. Time for Sarah Jane.

Another bright blue ball burned through the wall behind him, heralding the arrival of his pursuer. He flipped over the near by sofa, diving behind it as yet another shot blazed where he had been. He huddled up behind it, finding himself next to Ricard's corpse. Another blast came, tearing a quarter of the dead man away in a steaming haze.

"You cannot hide from me, Doctor!" The Great Intelligence's voice shouted from the android. "You're time is over!"

He looked down at his sonic screwdriver, and smiled. The light-up head was lime green. She had done it, the door was open.

He pointed the tool at the Cyberman hand, hoping this setting was correct. He didn't have enough time to figure it out if he was mistaken.

He watched as the hole in the center of the palm light up with electricity. It was unstable, but working, and that was more than enough.

He popped from behind the couch, another blue shot ripping inches from his head. He pointed the screwdriver at the hand, the palm facing, the robot, and pressed the button.

The ball of lightning shot from the hand, hitting the android in the chest. It was violently flung backwards, smacking into the wall. It managed to fire a return shot as it fell, blowing a hole in the ceiling.

This was his chance, and The Doctor took it, leaping the sofa, and running from the room. Knocking it down has bought him time, and with his screwdriver in working order, his chances of survival were much higher. Another bolt sizzled at his back as he charged through the door.

He tore back out into the entry room, sliding down the banister of the massive staircase. It was behind him, he could hear it in the hall. Maybe he could take it outside, trap it in the woods, or something else.

"Doctor!" Sarah Jane yelled. She was exiting the hall to his left, Pierce right behind her. Both carried silver platters; reflective metal.

"What can we do?" Pierce asked. His head calculated it almost instantly.

"Ballroom, now!" He yelled. As they ran, he switched his setting on the sonic screwdriver, pointing it at the Cyberman hand. "If I can get this right, I can make the repusler oscillators absorb, and reflect the shots!" The warbling whine of the sonic screwdriver reached it's pinnacle, finishing it's job.

"English?," Pierce hollered.

"I can deflect the shots wherever the hell I want."

They entered the ballroom, and he looked up at the, heavy crystal chandelier above them. That... would do it. He jaunted across the room.

"Pierce, you stand here," he yelled. Pierce did as he was told. The Doctor grabbed his platter, angling it up for him. "Keep this just like that!" He walked twenty-five feet to Pierce's left.

" Sarah you stand here," when she had taken position, he angled her platter at Pierce. "Good." They were both out of the way, so their enemy would be focused on him.

Just as they finished, the first blue plasma shot fired into the room, flying past them, scorching the glass behind them.

The Doctor took position in front of the door way, Cyberman hand up, and ready, like a baseball catcher. He just needed it to enter the room's center.

It looked like it was going to oblige him. It started on a jog, the shots coming faster. Like a shield, he deflected the first back at the charging android, and the second into the floor. He quickly backed up as it charged into the room, it's volleys continuing.

The Doctor dodged one, blasting the floor where he had been, and caught the next, throwing it down the hall. He continued to back up, as the android continued forward, tossing another pair of shots. The Doctor deflected both aside, blowing a pair of holes in the buffet table.

"You are running out of places to run Doctor. You cannot keep this up forever," The Great Intelligence taunted. The Doctor looked up; it was right under the chandelier.

"I don't have to," he growled as it shot one final time. The Doctor caught it with the hand, quickly spinning to his left, and thrusting it at Sarah Jane. The blue shot's aim was true, pinging off the platter, and into Pierce's. It streaked toward the ceiling, severing the chain high above. The Spoonhead looked up just in time to see the terrible descent.

With a thunderous crash, the metal and crystal monstrosity landed atop the killer robot, crushing it beneath it's weight. Glass shattered throughout the room, spreading across the floor. The Doctor shielded his face, and when he looked, he saw the devistated Spoonhead beneath. It's limbs were twisted into a mess, and a piece of metal had impaled its neck. It's chest sparked painfully, and it's gun hand twitched violently.

The Doctor twiddled with the sonic screwdriver, pointing it at the hand. It charged with electricity and he overcharged it, just for good measure. He pointed it at the fallen Spoonhead.

"You cannot escape me, Doctor," The Great Intelligence taunted though his fallen avatar, "I am everywhere. I see everything. You cannot run, you cannot hide, and you cannot win. I will destroy you, as you have destroyed so many others." The Doctor smiled, and nodded, kneeling down. When he did speak it was barely above a whisper.

"I don't know where you are, because I am not foolish enough to think this is your new body. I don't know what your plans are. And I have no plan myself. If you are as intelligent as you claim to be, you should be very afraid." He depressed the button on the screwdriver. "I will see you soon." The electrical shot hit the Spoonhead flush in the face, shattering it, revealing a mass of newly melted wires. It was too much for the android to bear, and the blue lights winked and went out as it shut down.

The Doctor set the Cyberman hand down, and stood up, dark eyes still on the Spoonhead. A dark feeling spread over him. This was not over, not by a long shot. He had fought The Great Intelligence many times, but he had never been more driven. Wherever this went, it was a place of chaos, and darkness.

He felt Sarah Jane's hand on his shoulder, and he touched it with his own, gripping it, resisting the urge to tremble.

"I'm with you, Doctor, until the very end," she comforted, almost as though she read his thoughts. He nodded. That was what scared him the most.

* * *

In a flash of light, Jack Harkness landed, stumbling into the walls of the alley. He coughed, and snorted; Vortex travel always clogged his sinuses horribly.

He rolled his shoulders, putting on his navy overcoat against the cold. He walked out of the stone alley, and into the street.

He heard the familiar cacophony of shouting voices, and distant bells. The clip-clop of hooves heralded a horse drawn carriage, passing him by. A light snow fluttered from the sky, and he could see the smog rising from the factories in the distance. Victorian London.

His investigation had lead him here. He had discovered his enemy, this Great Intelligence. His secrets were known to him, and he was now on the trail of The Doctor. It had taken some time but, according to his informant, The Doctor always returned here.

He looked at the address on the paper in his hand. 13 Paternoster Row, then up at the mansion sized home in front of him. He was here. He shrugged, almost patting himself on the back. He was still damn good with a manipulator. He was to seek someone called Madam Vastra. Who that was, he did not know. But any 'madam' was a friend of his.

He walked up the front steps, to the double doors. He knocked three times, and waited. When the door opened, he was shocked by what he saw.

The small man was shaped, and colored like a potato, with stocky arms, and stubby legs. It's thick mouth was attempting to smile but it seemed like more of grimmace. He had seen Sontarans before, though never like this. He wore some kind of jacket, and cravat like a butler.

"State your business quickly, girl, or I will annihilate you for your interruption of my lady's meal time!" The Sontaran shouted aggressively.

"Uhhhh..." Jack stammered. He was, for once, struck speechless.

"Let Capitan Harkness though, Strax," a pretty, woman's voice floated through the house, "I've been expecting him for quite some time."

"Right this way, my lady," Strax replied, stepping out of the way with a nod. Jack tenuously walked through the entrance, glancing back at the butler.

"May I take you hat ma'am? Hand grenades? Coat?" Strax asked.

"I'm not wearing a hat, I'm not a ma'am, I don't have hand grenades, and I'll keep the coat, thankyou," Jack rattled off. What was with this guy?

"Are you quite sure?" he asked befuddled, "have you been concussed recently, you seem quite confused." Jack shook his head, blinking a few times. This was going to be interesting, he could tell already.

 _(Author's Note: And thus is the end of yet another tale. I hope everyone enjoyed it. This one was very difficult for me, so I am happy to have finished it. Curious as to what Jack found out, and how? Do tune in to The Harkness Files. I would like to thank a few very special people before I go. First and foremost, Feline38. This story was in development hell before she helped me straighten it out. She gets the big thankyou here. BannerFanner is another, who has been my constant friend and who is currently co-writing The Harkness Files. I need to thank MirricatBlackwood, who is by far my best friend. No one can replace you bestie! And last but not least, BurgundyHope, who will never truly understand her impact on both my writing and my life as a whole. To the rest of you, thankyou for reading. I do hope you stay on for the next installment. See you soon Outlaw Gents and Shady Ladies)_


End file.
